Grey Eyes
by EmRosie
Summary: Harry isn't the same as he was before the war. He's going through the motions of existing and keeping those around him happy. But in reality, he's lost, and so is someone else... If he can save him, then surely, he can save himself? Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, George/Angelina.. Rubbish blurb, but this story could really end up going anywhere!
1. The First Month

**Grey Eyes**

 **Blurb:** Harry isn't the same as he was before the war. He's going through the motions of existing and keeping those around him happy. But in reality, he's lost, and so is someone else... If he can save him, then surely, he can save himself?

 **Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, some Harry/Ginny and potentially George/Angelina in later chapters!

 **Rating:** Rated M for some... ahem.. _mature_ content which may appear in later chapters. ;) If it doesn't, I'll drop the rating down. If that stuff offends you, I'll warn people before the chapter starts, so you can skip it!

 **Author's note:** Hi! This will be my first multi-chapter story for a very, very long time, so please be kind! Bit of a rubbish blurb, as this story could go in so many ways... I just have no idea! I've got a few firm threads in mind, but... I have no idea how long it will be, I originally planned for four chapters, but my plans now currently are around 7 chapters so... It could definitely grow! I'll see where my writing - and of course, any of your ideas/comments/responses take me!

P.S: Anyone who read my previous one shot "Solace in Firewhiskey" and was hoping this would be the sequel... bad news, its not. Good news, I do have an idea for that in mind, hopefully you'll see it soon!

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Chapter One 

The First Month

The first month after the war had been a non-stop blur of funerals and trials, sobbing and screaming, loss and vengeance. Those who had fought valiantly had been laid to rest, whilst those who had defied good were laid in chains. Fred's funeral had been, as expected, inexplicably awful and Harry had only just about made it through the day. The most memorable of all the funerals he'd attended, just barely preceding the joint funeral held for Tonks and Lupin just days before. The funerals were sad yet, as they should, provided some closure. So no, it wasn't either of those funerals that had kept Harry awake at night.

Draco Malfoy's trial had been announced, and was to be held on the 2nd of June, exactly a month after the battle, both dates Harry knew would weigh on his mind for years to come. When he had announced to Ron and Hermione he would be attending the trial, Ron's face had turned beetroot with the insult he fought back, knowing better than to question Harry's sanity - or lack thereof - under Hermione's knowing gaze. Harry was grateful to Hermione, grateful to how the war could have changed his best friends relationship in to one that was strengthened by their experiences, not shattered like so many had been. He was grateful, most of all, that neither of them asked why - for Harry wasn't sure he knew himself.

The night before the trial, sleep had not come easily to Harry. He twisted and turned, his body writhing in the tangle of blankets he slept fitfully under, his body glazed with sweat as if he were really in the flames he dreamed of where he grasped endlessly for thin, pale fingers and a life to save. Harry reached furiously, over and over, desperately trying to place a firm grip on the fingers which slid from his grasp each time. He was close, so close, desperately giving everything to save him but each time missing by inches. With a final determined swoop Harry dipped his broom lower, ignoring the way the flames singed his shins as he did so, finally taking a firm grip on the hand beneath him, wondering if he had the strength to make the final pull and save them both from the fire...

Blinking in the dim light as he awoke, he groaned and threw his head back against his pillow. He glanced to Ron, not for the first time jealous of how his best friend snored through the night like a Hippogriff. Despite his jealousy, Harry was pleased not to have woken his friend not wanting the awkward conversation that would surely follow. Inwardly, Harry allowed himself to smile. Ron's blossoming relationship with Hermione was beginning to change his friend - as evidenced earlier, her influence had already stopped the way his blustered thoughts could often stumble insultingly from his lips like a Puking Pasty but his former words were yet to be replaced by Hermione's knowing wisdom. Truthfully, Harry hoped they never would. Too many people had changed too much already.

Resigning himself to wakefulness Harry reached for his glasses and jammed them clumsily onto his face. In the dim light of the bedroom they slumbered in they did little to improve his vision but the act was so natural he barely even thought of it. Throwing the covers aside and quietly lifting from the bed, he crept downstairs in search of ice cold pumpkin juice to cool his once sweaty, now somewhat sticky, skin.

At the Burrow's large kitchen table he saw George, slumped across the table. For a moment Harry paused in the doorway, not wanting to intrude. The moment passed as quickly as it came. After all, returning up the creaky stairs would undoubtedly wake many of the Weasley's and Hermione who slept above. Harry doubted he would ever get used to the sight of George without Fred, but looking at the lone figure before him was becoming less painful with each day, the void beside him less raw. After making his drink in silence Harry slipped into a wooden chair not far from George, who had still not registered his company. Leaving the goblet before him untouched, Harry let his mind drift to the day ahead. He knew, of course, why his dreams tonight had been plagued by Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. He often dreamed of many scenes from the war and although this particular memory visited him in sleep frequently the poignancy of the dream-edited version of the memory was not lost on Harry. Normally, the dream would play out precisely as it had happened, more of a horrific memory than a true nightmare. But this time it had been different. He had even trying to save Malfoy, each time so close, yet so far...

"Ron says you're going to watch." A voice broke the silence, a voice he hadn't heard in so long he almost did a double take. He turned to face George, wondering for a mad, fleeting moment how he could be reading his mind, knowing he was thinking of Malfoy and the trial. Mistaking the confusion on Harry's face, George nodded toward the previous days issue of The Prophet folded on the table just past them. Glancing at the page Harry saw the headline "Malfoy family disgraced as trial ends tomorrow with youngest son" accompanied by a photograph of Draco with an expression that made Harry's gut wrench. He didn't need to read the article, he already had. The report of the two trials and speculation over the one to come would forever be etched in Harry's mind. Lucius had been sent to Azkaban indefinitely, his war crimes stacked out endlessly; bearing a Dark Mark, use of unforgivable curses, housing the Voldemort, murder... The penultimate crime made Harry shiver in a way the others didn't. They were all horrific crimes, but having Voldemort living in his house was unthinkable. Not that that had bee Malfoy's crime, for Merlin's sake, he had been sixteen years old and no doubt had no say at all in who claimed residence in the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa's trial had followed her husbands, a much longer affair due to its complications. Word had risen that she had pronounced Harry dead, allowing him the opportunity to defeat Voldemort. She'd been subjected to harsh scrutiny under veritaserum to determine the truth of that night and her motive behind her actions. Her response had been she had wanted to save her son. She had known that Harry Potter could defeat Voldemort and that would be the only way to save her son - after he had not immediately left Hogwarts to join the rest of the Death Eaters, she was certain he would be killed if the battle was allowed to rage on. The jury of the Wizengamot had deliberated long and hard over her response. Her intentions, of course, had been to save her son, not to save the Wizarding World, or defeat evil, silencing dark magic forever. Yet at the same time, if she had been a true Death Eater she would have disregarded her son as Luscius had, sickened that he had not joined their greater cause. As such, her trial and acquittal has become one of the most talked about since the war had ended. She had been spared Azkaban but the Malfoy estate had been dismantled, their Manor home, possessions and most of their gold taken in war reparations. The news had made Harry's stomach twist uncomfortably - if most of the Malfoy estate had already been claimed in debt, what would there be to save Draco? He had the strongest reason for forgiveness of his family, the first of them to turn to support Hogwarts and, after evidence that he had been underage when given the Dark Mark, growing speculation as to if he had ever believed in Voldemorts cause at all.

Realising he had been lost in his thoughts for some time he returned his gaze to George and merely nodded.

"He's a git" George said, surprising Harry once again with the fact that this was the most he'd spoken since a heartbreaking speech at Fred's funeral "But he isn't evil."

The final words shocked Harry more than anything. Voldemort – Death Eaters – the Malfoys – they were all part of the reason why George was now a shell of his former self, the reason why he would forever be, in at least one way, alone. Again Harry nodded. What Harry hadn't spent much time deliberating was why he cared so much about the outcome of Malfoy's trial. He had told himself he simply didn't save someone's life just to see them rot in Azkaban and that was the end of it. Yet George's words struck something deep within Harry. He wouldn't say he cared for Malfoy – no, not at all – but he didn't believe he deserved punishment. He hadn't asked for most of what happened to him. As George said; he wasn't evil.

"I saved his life... in the battle." Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck in an awkward gesture "And as my role goes, I'm usually up their offing evil, not rescuing it."

He hadn't intended to make a joke, yet when a snigger escaped George's lips he was glad he had. Harry knew George wouldn't be dancing from the rooftops anytime soon but he deserved to be able to think of happiness again.

"So you are going?" This time it was a question, not a statement, and Harry felt the need to defend himself. Reading the look on his face, George shook his head, making the argument die on Harry's lips. "I'm not going to try and stop you" he said, raising his hands in mock surrender "I'm going to help... When Ron told me I went back to the shop... Me and..." His brother's name wouldn't – couldn't - escape his lips and Harry simply gave a knowing nod, which George looked thankful for "Well we'd started branching into potions, at first for fun but then to help The Order... It's sort of like polyjuice, but resistant to a lot of enchantments the Wizengamot will surely have in place. It's not one hindered percent, we never really got round to testing it but... I figured you'd appreciate anything that would give you a chance of being... Y'know... Not you."

Harry realised he hadn't given any thought to what it would look like, Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World watching on at the trial of a former Death Eater, more to the point a Death Eater who had been a noted rival through their school years. Coupling this with his name already in the Malfoy trials, he suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for George and his consideration of a thought Harry hadn't even realised himself. "Definitely" he said, the appreciation ringing loud and clear in his voice.

George's shoulders seemed to relax although Harry hadn't noticed the tension before. "I don't know who you could use, though, I mean, you could go out in Diagon before and charm a hair, but it's going to be a very public case so really you need someone who's going to be unseen all day..."

"He can have mine," a voice from the doorway interjected, making both at the table jump. "Sorry," the voice instantly apologised, Harry recognising Hermione's voice before he saw her face as she sat opposite him. "I won't be out, in fact, I'll be very far away. I'm going to Australia to get my parents back... Ron said he'll come with me - I mean - if that's ok with you Harry" with the last sentence the tip of her ears turned pink and Harry managed a small, but meaningful smile.

"Of course its ok, it's more than ok" Harry replied, and he meant it. "It's great. We need more good news; it'll be great for you to get your parents back."

Hermione smiled thankfully and relaxed into her chair "I'm sure Ron would offer too, but... Well... I think his appearance might cause as much as a stir as yours." Of course, Ron had lost a brother in the war and his hate for Malfoy had always been clear at school too. Although Hermione had dislike him, she had never been as publicly vocal in her feelings as the boys had. "Also, I mean, my appearance isn't exactly as striking as yours or Ron's… Keep your head down, no one will really notice you..."

"It's great, Hermione, thank you." Harry's words met with a nod, accompanied by a small, supportive smile.

"I better go and start packing," she said, excusing herself from the table.

Harry and George once again sat in silence, listening other footsteps lightly trail the stairs.

"Fred would have loved it" George broke the silence again, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Those two" He clarified, nodding after Hermione. "He wouldn't have let him live it down for a second."

"It's good that they're happy." Harry said, smiling at the thought of Fred mercilessly teasing Ron over his long-awaited love. "You should be happy too." He dared, taking a careful glance over at the remaining Weasley twin.

"So should you."

Harry sighed, letting the words hang between them. The war had changed so many relationships. Whilst some - like Ron and Hermione's - grew stronger, some had been broken. George would never have Fred again and Harry thought, not for the first time, that he may not have Ginny. They'd both changed, casualties of the war, and whilst a love remained between them, he doubted it would be the same again. A comfortable silence stretched between them as the sun rose, bathing the kitchen in its early morning light. Hearing the dull sounds of those waking above them both Harry and George took this time to retreat, Harry returning to the room he shared with Ron.

The room was empty, Ron probably packing with Hermione for their trip. A strange feeling twisted in Harry's stomach at the thought of his two best friends off on a journey without him. He was happy for them in the relationship, happier than anyone else. It was just… They'd been a trio for so long; it was strange to think that now they'd be doing things without him.

As he flopped down on his bed his thoughts returned to the dream he had and the feeling he couldn't shake that Malfoy still needed saving. His unease from the Prophet's reports of his mother's trial lingered mixed with images of the pale fingers from his dream. Once again paying little attention to the reasons behind his actions Harry sprang into motion, settling into the small desk in Ron's room as he rooted through its drawers for a quill, ink and parchment. He scribbled furiously over the page, telling himself once again that there was nothing to his desire to attend Malfoy's trial, nothing to his desire to see him spared from Azkaban, just a simple need to have his actions in the Room of Requirement mean something more than a rotting soul behind bars. Especially a soul that, as George had so eloquently put it, despite being a git certainly wasn't evil.

Letter complete, he hastily rolled the parchment and addressed it, feeling a pang in his chest for Hedwig once again. Letter clasped firmly in hand he took the stairs two at a time downstairs, finding Mrs Weasley in the kitchen.

"Can I borrow an owl?" He asked, the importance of the note in his hand outweighing the need for morning pleasantries.

"Of course, dear" Molly replied with a kind smile. The smile was as warm and comforting as it had always been yet it was another thing that had been changed by the war, a smile that didn't reach her eyes in the way it once had before.

Nodding his thanks Harry skidded out into the Weasley's back garden, tying the letter to the foot of the first bird he came across. He knew these didn't all belong to the family, but had been somewhat adopted from fallen friends. "Quickly" he urged the owl he'd chosen with a whisper, watching it glide off into the sky.

"YOU'RE WHAT?" A shrill shout from inside the house startled Harry, the angry tones of none other than Mrs Weasley ringing out into the garden "RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY I FORBID IT!"

As he raced back to the house he wondered idly how long he'd been in the garden if such a scene had already exploded, although he had less time to consider this thought as he burst back into the kitchen. Ron stood, defiant yet red-faced next to a considerably embarrassed looking Hermione as Mrs Weasley loomed over them, shaking with her rage.

"Hermione needs to get her parents back, mum, and she can't go on her own!" Ron argued, his voice raised but somehow eerily calm.

"Of course I'm not saying that – of course dear, you shouldn't go alone" Mrs Weasley flustered, shaking her head as if the idea were insane as she glanced at Hermione "Neither of you should go, not now, surely the Ministry…" She trailed off weakly, already knowing what the answer would be.

"I asked Kingsley." Hermione said, her small voice giving the answer to the silent question "They just can't spare the manpower, what with the trials and still trying to round up those who've run… He said he'd put them to the top of the list but… It could still take months. Maybe a year. It might be too late to make them remember…" Her voice trailed off as a strange, strangled sob hit her throat and Ron protectively threw an arm around her. At the sight Harry shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling like he was party to an intimate scene he shouldn't be part of.

Mrs Weasley's features softened at the gesture and she sighed, wearily looking down. "Be careful, I can't lose..." She didn't finish her sentence, but it wasn't needed. They all knew the words she couldn't speak.

"We'll be fine mum, back before you know it" Ron promised, reaching his free arm to awkwardly pat his mothers who at the touch grabbed the pair in an overbearingly tight hug. As the embrace broke Harry shuffled further into the room and announced his presence with a soft cough.

"Harry!" Hermione said brightly, as Mrs Weasley busied herself with wiping her tears on the corner of her apron. "Here" she said, reaching into her pocket and handing him a small tube with a long, curly hair inside. Taking the tube with a thank you, Harry pushed it deep into his jean pocket as Ron joined the pair.

"Look after each other. Good luck." He gave Hermione a hug which she returned with a grateful squeeze before slapping Ron on the back in a much more macho style.

"You too mate" Ron replied, his eyes shifting to today's Prophet sitting bundled on the table with the mornings post. Harry could just making out the start of the blazing headline "Final Malfoy trail –" before the letters covered it and he met Ron's gaze with a nod.

"I will." He promised, clapping his best friend on the back once more before stepping back. He watched his best friends disappear into the garden hand-in-hand, watching their retreating backs until they left the wards of the Burrow. Harry stared until he heard the faint pop of their apparition and sighed, sinking into a chair and pulling the paper towards him.

"I'm not stupid, you know" Mrs Weasley stated as Harry read the latest speculation regarding Malfoy's trial. "I know you're going. I know George is helping you. I won't stop you… In fact, I'm glad it's given George something to do…" she trailed off, her tears threatening to swell again. "Just be careful." She told him, in much the same tone she had used with Ron and Hermione, letting Harry know once again that she saw him as much of a son as she did her birth children.

"I will, I'll be back for tea." He assured her with a twisted smile, trying to ignore the twisting nerves in his stomach.

Smiling kindly once again, she tilted her head toward the stairs. "George is in his room. Hermione left some robes with him for you."

Without a word Harry took to the stairs, finding himself outside George's room in no time at all. Knocking before he entered, Harry felt a stab of sadness hit him once again as he noted the two beds in the room despite the now single occupant.

"Hermione left me her hair" He told George by way of greeting who simply nodded, turning to a cupboard behind him and tinkling with vials inside.

"Here" he said, offering a vial to Harry which shone a deep, glittering red. Harry didn't know what he had been expecting – something similar to polyjuice, he thought but took the vial with a nod, the tube holding Hermione's hair now retrieved from his pocket in the other. Opening the potion he was hit with a strong smell he couldn't place, looking to George for encouragement before dropping Hermione's hair into the mixture. It gave off a faint hiss, a small billow of smoke rising although the potion itself didn't change, another way in which George's creation was different to polyjuice.

"I'll leave you to it" George said, leaving Harry alone with the still softly smoking potion. Should he wait for it to stop? Would it stop? Did he need to drink it right away, or let it brew? Ignoring the questions he lifted the vial to his lips and tipped back his head, feeling the liquid run down his throat.

His first thought was one of pleasant surprise. This wasn't half as awful as polyjuice he thought to himself as he felt his skin begin to bubble as it changed. Strange, but not painful, he mused as he watched his fingers change before his eyes. Then it hit him, a heat rising through his body which burnt like he was on fire. He opened his mouth to gasp yet all that escaped his lips was a billow of smoke the same shade of grey as that had smoked from the potion. Oh Merlin he should have waited for it to stop he thought as the heat within him grew stronger, so strong he had to collapse onto the bed behind him, sweat dripping from his brow. Suddenly the heat washed from his body as quickly as it had begun leaving an ice cold feeling in its wake. Vaguely, Harry was aware that his vision was blurred and his skin wasn't bubbling as it was before. The transformation must be complete he thought as he removed his glasses and placed them on George's dresser, standing to take a lot at himself in the mirror across the room.

It had definitely worked. Staring back at him was Hermione, looking somewhat out of place in Harry's snitch patterned t-shirt. Seeing the robes Hermione had left on George's dresser Harry began to change, finishing the fastening as George re-entered.

"It worked" Harry said brightly, although the tone that left his lips was Hermione's.

"Of course it did" George replied, looking a little insulted. "We knew that much, it's just if it will withstand all the Ministry's security charms…" He frowned then gave a shrug, instead fixing his face to a more neutral expression. "You should have five hours from now… The trials at nine so…" They both glanced toward the clock, seeing the time now was half past eight.

"I better get going" Harry finished, straightening himself and oddly trying to become used to the way Hermione's body moved.

Pointing his want to the grate in his bedroom, a fire roared to life. "Me and Fred hooked it to the Floo years ago. No one ever knew. Brilliant." He said with a faint smile as he visited the memory of his brother. "Figured it'd be better for you than, y'know…"

Harry knew. He was by now sure all the Weasley's knew of his plan to attend Malfoy's trail, but that didn't mean he wanted to parade through the house as Hermione to do so. Stepping toward the grate he took a pinch of Floo powder from George's outstretched hand.

"Good luck, mate."

Not used to Hermione's expressions, Harry smiled, hoping he was able to hide the fear he felt clawing at him and stepping into the roaring flames without a word.

"The Ministry of Magic!" He announced clearly, whipping dizzyingly into the flames as he was transported to his destination.

Tumbling out of the flames Harry found himself in the familiar entrance hall to the Ministry. As he walked the corridor he was relieved to see the sickening statue of a Wizard sitting on crushed muggles removed from its atrium. Wondering where he should go Harry stumbled along with the crowd, hoping desperately he wouldn't be forced to ask and draw attention to his – or rather, Hermione's – presence.

"Fantastic, you can just feel the… Apprehension." A shrill voice broke through the crowd, one that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He would not forget Rita Skeeter in a hurry and as he turned to face the voice he saw her, Quick Notes Quill avidly scribbling away. "The final Malfoy trail begins; will he be his mother's boy or his father's son? Does dark lurk beneath that pale exterior? Does evil shine through that golden hair?" Although usually sickened by the way the witch revelled in peoples misery Harry was, for the only time in his life, feeling pleased to see her, knowing she would lead him directly to the courts he needed to find.

He kept his distance - although he disguised he knew Rita would still recognise Hermione if he got close enough – trailing just far enough behind to still hear Rita as she cackled on, gleefully directing her Quick Notes Quill into a dramatic speculation of Malfoy sharing a cell with his father. Harry tried to ignore the unpleasant twist in his stomach at the image, pushing the thought away and realising that before he knew it they had reached the lower floors of the Ministry where the courtrooms were held.

A small, elderly wizard sat at a high desk, stopping each who passed him and pointing them in the direction of – Harry swallowed uncomfortably – several wizard cloaked in unmistakeable Auror robes watching intently as their wands cast a series of vigilant security charms. Before he knew it he was at the front of the queue, the old wizard gazing down at him.

"Name?"

"H-" Harry cursed inwardly, taken by surprise but thankful that, at least, his and Hermione's names started with the same letter. "Hermione Granger" he amended, vowing to be alert from now on.

Accepting this with a nod, the Wizard took note on a piece of parchment in front of him.

"Trail?" He asked.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Harry confirmed, willing his – or rather, Hermione's – voice to be firmer, masking the fear that clawed at him inside.

If the wizard had made any connection between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy he hadn't let on, merely continuing with his duty. "Wand?"

This question stopped Harry firmly in his tracks. Bloody fuck – this was it, he hadn't even got as far as the Aurors' enchantments. They would trace his wand in moments and see that it wasn't –

"It is a requirement of the Ministry of Magic that no witch or wizard be armed in court. Your wand will merely be labelled and stored, returned to you on your arrival." The wizard drawled in an impatient tone, misreading Harry's reluctance as a fear of giving up his wand.

Feeling not at all relieved, yet sensing he had no choice, Harry slid his wand from his pocket and handed it over to the wizard. With a flick, a label curled itself around Harry's wand before it flew into a pigeon hole marked 'Court 3' behind a thin, shimmering veil Harry figured must be some sort of security charm.

Handing Harry a visitors badge the wizard did not speak again, nodding Harry toward a particularly sour-faced Auror who tapped his foot impatiently. Trying his best to arrange Hermione's features into a determined, confident expression Harry stepped forward. Without a word the Auror began his magical assault and Harry's insides clenched and twisted in fear as he felt the charms wash over him. His mind willed for George's potion to stay strong, to defeat the Ministry's charms. His thoughts chanted harder than ever, harder than they had when he had begged the Sorting Hat to spare him from Slytherin in his first year –

"Forward." The Auror announced curtly, making Harry jump from his thoughts in surprise. It had worked, he was in! Rushing forward and hoping the clear relief in his expression didn't cast suspicion he hurried forward, eyes raking the corridors until his gaze found a large metal number 3 gleaming dangerously above a dark stone archway. Checking his watch he saw he had no time to gather his thoughts and hurried inside, slipping into a free seat toward the back of the public gallery yet with a clear view of the court floor below. Before he had had time to register his luck, how George's potion had held strong, how –

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, of the public and press" a loud, booming voice broke Harry's racing thoughts and demanded his attention "We are here today on a most notable date. One month today has passed since the end of the war and this court has sought justice from many of those responsible. Today our trials continue. Auror Grett, if you will." Harry's eyes instantly sought a burly, straight-faced wizard who Harry reasoned must be Auror Grett, who nodded in response to the instruction and rose to his feet.

"I command the presence of Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy." The wizards booming voice returned as Auror Grett opened the heavy wooden door with a loud creak and a strangled gasp escaped Harry's lips….


	2. The Trial

Hey, I'm back with the second chapter! I'll try and update at least once a week if real life doesn't get in the way! I'm already a few chapters ahead writing-wise but they need editing, proof-reading... etc.

Hope you're all enjoying the story so far - thanks for all the follows and favourites and a special thanks to Ern Estine 13624 for the review, it's always a writing boost to know people are enjoying my work! :)

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Chapter Two

The Trial

He looked… Harry was at a loss for a word to describe Malfoy's state. He looked scared, yet somehow past caring, broken in a way that made Harry feel violently sick. He made no sarcastic comment, no sign of resistance as he took his seat and allowed his forearms to be placed against the armrests, magical bonds silently slithering around his wrists to hold him firmly in place.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, the date today is the 2nd of June 1998 and you have been brought before the Wizengamot to answer to your crimes. You will be questioned under the influence of Veritaserum, to be administered by Auror Grett as your charges are listed. Bearing of the Dark Mark, allegiance to Voldemort, use of the Unforgiveable Curse Crucio –"

The wizard continued listing Malfoy's charges although Harry barely heard them, all of his attention honed to Draco. He watched as his pale face stared, grey eyes ringed with purple looking unseeingly ahead as Auror Grett opened a tiny vial of liquid. Without fight Draco tilted his head and allowed the potion to be poured between his lips. The sight made the sick feeling in Harry's stomach turn more violently. He had not expected this. He had not expected Malfoy to be so… Defeated.

"Questions to determine the success of the potion will now begin." The lead wizard asked from his bench above Malfoy without emotion. "Are you Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded, his lips pressed in a thin, but firm, line.

"We need verbal conformation, Mister Malfoy."

Draco scowled deeply, clearly fighting the effects of the potion. Harry knew it would be no use, as Snape had so coldly once told him; one drop of the powerful potion would make you spill your darkest secrets to the world.

"Yes."

Draco's voice matched his appearance. Quiet, subdued, defeated… Most different to any tone Harry had heard Malfoy speak in before.

"And is your accounted place of residence the Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England?"

"Until yesterday" Malfoy's reply was bitter and terse, much more like the boy Harry knew.

"Finally, Mister Malfoy, do you understand the charges brought before you and do you accept your trial here before the Wizengamot?"

"Yes" came Malfoy's reply, his bravado once again lost to defeated tones.

"Records suggest you are marked with the Dark Mark. The council requires evidence of this." It was a statement more than a question as the Wizard flicked his wand toward Malfoy's bound forearm, lifting the material that hid the black skull engraved on his pale skin. At the sight another murmur spread through the court, this time Harry silent as his eyes bore into the mark on Malfoy's arm.

"Evidence noted." The wizard continued, a second flick of his wand hiding the Dark Mark from view once again and finally allowing Harry's eyes to tear away. "When did you receive the mark, Mister Malfoy?"

"The summer before my sixth year at Hogwarts"

"So you were underage?"

"Yes."

Another ripple of murmurs took the courtroom, although the wizard pressed on.

"Mister Malfoy, why did you take the mark? Were you supportive of the dark cause?"

"I didn't want it. I never wanted it. My fa- Lucius, he had angered Voldemort. He hadn't done his _duty,_ " Malfoy spat the final word as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "They tortured me, tortured my mother. He offered my arm in an attempt to redeem our name. They changed him. He was never that much of a bastard before..." Although expected under the under the influence of Veritaserum, Harry was still taken aback at how the words ran from Malfoy's lips, painting a picture of a broken boy who had his path in life chosen for him just as much as Harry's path had been given to him. His final words were, suprisingly, the most uncomfortable for Harry. It suddenly struck him how he and Malfoy may be, in a way, similar. He may have been a literal orphan of Voldemort, but as Malfoy spoke of his father, it seemed Harry was not the only one who had lost a parent.

Although he knew he should be paying attention to the trial he had come to witness Harry's thoughts were lost in this revelation, his mind buzzing with wonder at the prospect that Malfoy had wanted what had happened to him just as much as Harry had. The voices in the courtroom became little more than background noise as Harry stared at Malfoy, his defeated frame hunched in the chair that suddenly seemed far too large. George's words from earlier returned to him; Malfoy may be a git, but he certainly wasn't evil. He was broken, forced down a path that had not been his own.

Harry was unsure how long he had been lost in his thoughts hearing little of the trial around him, as questions mingled with accusations batted between Draco and the wizards interrogating him until the lead wizard questioning Malfoy reached for a piece of parchment and cleared his throat, drawing Harry once again to the present.

"Testimonies which are not given in person under wizarding oath are rarely considered in court, especially in matters such as this. However, given the gravity of the testimony we received this morning the Wizengamot have agreed to let the evidence be used to question Mister Malfoy. " He began as the wizards and witches on the Wizengamot jury exchanged questioning looks. "An owl arrived from Mister Harry Potter, testifying to the character of Mister Draco Malfoy, with several events detailed which evidence his opinion."

Yet another murmur rippled through the court as those gathered could not conceal their surprise – Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, supporting a proven Death Eater in court? Not for the first time, as the witches and wizards around him exchanged whispers, Harry was thankful for his disguise. His eyes returned to Malfoy and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the surprise register before he regained his composure.

"How do we know it's really Harry Potter?" A straight-faced wizard interjected in disbelief from the Wizengamot bench, earning a few supportive nods from those around him. "It could be anyone!"

Apprehension clawed at Harry's stomach. What if his letter this morning had been a waste? What if the Wizengamot wouldn't believe it? He suddenly felt like his disguise as Hermione was imprisoning rather than safe, holding him back from helping Malfoy.

"Indeed, we have considered this possibility. The paper has been charmed and traced, compared to handwriting on file from Mister Potter's previous ministry interactions and the owl responsible for the note was traced back to the address at which Mister Potter is currently known to be residing." The lead wizard explained "However, we do accept the unsual nature of this form of testimony. This is why its contents shall not be revealed, rather posed as questions to Mister Malfoy – who under Veritaserum's influence will not be able to lie – to verify if Mister Potter's claims about his character are true."

This seemed to appease most members of the Wizengamot although the wizard who had spoken shook his head, expression suggesting he was far from convinced.

"Mister Malfoy." The lead wizard said, returning his attentions to Malfoy. "As has already been established during the questioning of yourself and your family, your home was used for some time during the war as a base of operations for Voldemort. Can you tell me, Mister Malfoy, what the cellars were used for during this time?"

Despite his straight face Mafloy's grey eyes seemed to cloud over with the memory he was returned to. "We – They used it to keep prisoners."

"And who were these prisoners?"

"Ollivander, he was there for ages. Then Lovegood… Luna, her dad had angered them…" Malfoy trailed off, as if that was explanation enough for her imprisonment. "I tried to… I took them food." He finished, Harry unable to read his expression as he had suddently become very interested in the stone floor beneath him.

"Was anyone else, for any amount of time, a prisoner of the Manor?" The wizard asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes. Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley…. Harry Potter." Although most witches and wizards must have expected Harry's name to follow that of his best friends, there was still another murmur of surprise, almost excitement, which rippled the crowd as they hung onto Malfoy's every word.

"I see. Could you tell us, Mister Malfoy, what happened upon their arrival?" The wizard asked, although Harry knew, after recalling the event that morning, he had it written right in front of him.

"They'd been captured by some snatchers and they'd recognised Granger, thought they could a lot for her if they came to us. Potter's face was pretty messed up… That must have been Granger, Weasley couldn't think that fast if his life depended on it." The snide remark about one of the heroes of the war probably didn't win Malfoy any favours with the Wizengamot yet Harry was relived – it meant Malfoy was still in there, somewhere…

"They wanted to be sure – they wanted to know who they'd got before they called him. Wanted me to identify them… Said that, if I could tell them it was Potter, we'd be forgiven…" Malfoy continued, swallowing thickly. "I couldn't."

"Why couldn't you, Mister Malfoy? Did you not recognise Mister Potter?" The wizard pressed.

"I knew. I just couldn't." Malfoy replied, his voice barely a whisper although it carried as clear as a ringing bell through the silent courtroom.

"They tortured Granger…. It was awful. But… If I…" Malfoy continued despite being asked, the Veritaserum he had swallowed at its strongest, forcing him to spill his rawest emotions. "Aunt Bellatrix used me as Cruico practise when she caught me taking Lovegood bread." He finished after a moment, as if the comparison would explain what he couldn't say.

"Then?"

"Potter and Weasley escaped… Ca me to get Granger. There was a fight, I knew they'd be watching me so I – I had my wand… Potter disarmed me, I could have blocked it, but…" Malfoy shrugged as he broke off, the unspoken words clear; it was easier to surrender his wand than explain why he had resisted in attack.

"But?" The lead wizard prompted, as the charmed note-taking quill to his side quivered in the air, waiting for Malfoy's story to close.

"It was… Easier to let Potter take my wand than explain why I hadn't fought like I should" Malfoy replied. Although Harry had already worked this out, this caused the biggest murmur of all to spread through the court – never would any wizard describe surrendering their wand as _easy_. "I was punished anyway… Mother tried to stop them… She gave me her wand when I returned to Hogwarts."

"Where is your wand now, Mister Malfoy?" The wizard asked, although once again Harry knew he already knew.

"Last I knew, Potter still had it"

The wizard nodded curtly, his eyes returning to the long forgotten parchment in front of him. "Indeed, Mister Potter closes his testimony by declaring he is in possession of Mister Malfoy's wand and will return it to him if he were to be released, and that Mister Potter would never desire to arm someone he believed to be a dark wizard."

Harry tore his gaze from Malfoy to the Wizengamot as they exchanged glances, clearly weighing up this new evidence. From the looks on their faces, this was clearly something for them to consider. Harry dared to allow the first seed of hope blossom inside him. Would it be enough? Would they save Malfoy?

"Mister Malfoy, this concludes the evidence and interrogation of your trial. Unless… you have anything else to add?"

The court was deathly silent as the wizard Malfoy the chance to speak. Harry watched as his pale face screwed up under the weight of the Veritaserum, clearly fighting the words the potion wanted him to admit.

"Potter saved my life, during the battle." Malfoy whispered, staring resolutely ahead, past all the wizards and witches whose eyes were on him. "So I can't be that bad." With his final sentence his words cracked with emotion, left weak under the effort of trying to hold back his emotions and preserve himself. Harry swallowed thickly as the weight of the words settled on him. The way Malfoy spoke was a plea; not for the Wizengamot to believe him, but for him to believe himself.

"Mister Malfoy, you will be returned to your holding cell for the duration of this courts deliberations. Court will be resumed when a decision has been reached." The Wizengamot rose to their feet and filed from the room and Harry searched their faces desperately for any suggestion of what they would decide. Once the benches were empty, the gallery around him began to filter out although Harry remained in his seat as if held by a sticking charm, watching as Malfoy was released from his magical restraints. As the seats around him emptied and Malfoy was pulled to stand their eyes met. The connection burnt and Malfoy snapped his gaze away in an instant, a violent blush spreading his pale face as he was led from the room. Harry, for a second, had to remind himself that it was actually _Hermione_ that Malfoy had seen and found himself unsettled. It was not so much Hermione's reaction to this that unsettled him, but a pressing wish that he couldn't explain to have been himself in that moment.

Once he was left alone in the courtroom his thoughts sprang into overdrive. George said he had five hours with the potion… Taken at half past 8, the trial had begun at 9. How long had they been in here? How long did he have left? Would he still be safe when the decision was made? His thoughts swirled with tension. Lucius's trial had been notoriously short, the Wizengamot had been in discussion for only twenty minutes before sending him to Azkaban. Narcissa's hand been much longer, the Prophet reported a deliberation of almost seven hours before they reached the terms of her pardon.

Scurrying from the courtroom Harry dived head down into the crowd of witches and wizards now animated in discussion, heading from them as fast as he could toward the toilet yet hearing snatches of conversation.

"Did you see him, looked terrible, not that he doesn't deserve it –"

"Can you believe, he saved Harry Potters life!"

"Looks like his father, just as evil."

"They roughed him up pretty bad, I mean, he's just a kid –"

So lost in listening to the mixed reactions of those around him Harry had to forcibly remind himself to use the women's toilets. Taking a deep, shuddering breath as he locked the door behind him Harry lifted the wrist of Hermione's robe to see his own watch too loose around Hermione's delicate wrist. It was half past 11. They had been in court for two and a half hours. Harry's throat went dry, it hadn't felt that long – was that a good or bad thing? Would it weigh in Malfoy's favour, or against him? For a moment Harry wished he really were Hermione, no doubt she'd have an extensive knowledge of high profile Wizengamot trials, times and outcomes. This thought was enough to remind him that he actually was Hermione right now, but wouldn't be for long. He'd been under George's potion for three hours, with only two left. Would he have to leave before the potion wore off?

Minutes seemed to stretch like hours as Harry sat in wait, locked up in the cubicle, listening to the faint hum of voices outside waiting for the tell-tale quiet of court returning.

Harry checked his watch. One o'clock. Somehow an hour and a half had passed, leaving Harry only half an hour to escape the Ministry without having to make some very awkward explanations. He cursed inwardly, angry he didn't have time to hear the outcome. What was taking them so long? Knowing he had to leave he slipped from the cubicle, out of the toilets and into the corridor past the now lessened crowd. People had obviously gone to eat or gone home, knowing the outcome would be in the papers.

As he came back to the courts entrance he gazed up at the charm-veiled wall which held his wand. This he hadn't had time to think of. Wands were magical objects, what if it sensed a difference between the name attached to it and its true owner? What if he couldn't get his wand back? Now racing with need to have his wand returned to him Harry almost skidded as he reached the wall. Waiting in the short but seemingly endless queue before him he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, checking his watch. Ten past one. Only twenty minutes of his disguise left, that was if he had the full five hours George had promised.

"Place your wand arm through this entrance, Miss, and your wand will be returned to you." The instruction jerked Harry from his thoughts, faltering under being addressed as 'Miss' he stuck Hermione's arm through the offered opening in the veil.

A warm woosh of air crossed his palm and in an instant he saw his wand swoop from the shelf that held it, settling with a gentle drop in his palm.

"Good day, Miss." The wizard who had instructed him before smiled, much more pleasantly than anyone else who Harry had encountered that morning. Returning the smile quickly he rushed away, retracing the endless corridors as he felt a strange icy feeling run through his veins. Before he could register the feeling, Harry was aware that his eyesight was slowly blurring before him – the change back had begun. Dipping backwards into a deserted archway Harry rooted quickly through the folds in the pockets of Hermione's cloak. Although he had not brought his glasses – he cursed himself inwardly for that – he had brought his invisibility cloak. Finally clasping the smooth silk he breathed a sigh of relief, throwing the cloak over himself. Even though he was now out of the courtroom he still didn't feel that explaining the presence of Harry Potter in a witches robe in the middle of the Ministry of Magic wouldn't be easy.

He stayed hidden in the archway under the cloak as the change took hold, the ice now gripping almost cripplingly to him. The faint fog of Harry's thoughts reasoned that if the potion had burnt as he changed the first time, the ice cold made sense on the change back. He made a vague note to tell George of the experience as he felt the last shudders of change spread through his body. Still sitting in the archway, hidden under his cloak, Harry peered out. The witches and wizards ambling past him were little more than blurred figures without his glasses. It would be hard enough navigating his way to the entrance hall and Floo connections without his glasses without having to stay under cover as well. He would wait until it quietened down, he told himself. Getting out without being noticed was enough of a reason to stay that Harry didn't have to admit, not even to himself, that a large part of the reason he was waiting was to hear news of Malfoy's trial.

The wait was agonising and Harry checked his watch repeatedly. Half past three. He'd now been waiting here for almost two hours and the trial had been over for four. When would he know?

"Probation! He's got a Dark Mark and nothing – no reparations, nothing! Well, at least we still have a story. Wizarding Saviour Harry Potter turns to saving Death Eaters!" Harry was jerked from his thoughts by the unmistakable screech of Rita Skeeter's voice. He could hear the disappointment in her opening words and although without his glasses he couldn't see it, he could certainly hear the smirk in her final words. "We've got to get back and get this written up. Front page of this evenings Prophet if were back in time!"

Harry released a steady breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Probation. Malfoy wasn't going to Azkaban. No doubt he'd have some serious magical limitations in his probation, but he'd be ok. He had a chance. The knots that had been tying unconsciously in Harry's stomach all day smoothed with the news and left a satisfied warmth in their wake. Waiting again became Harry's agenda as he waited for the hub of the Ministry to quieten for the evening although this time the wait was much more bearable. Eventually Harry stole from his hidden archway, carefully navigating past the blurry bodies of the few witches and wizards still trailing the corridors. Finding the Floo's Harry looked around carefully before shuffling toward one of the fires furthest from the reception desk using his cloaked body to hide his hand as it stretched from the cloak to grab a handful of Floo powder. Settling into the flames with his clock still intact Harry cast the powder to the ground, announcing his destination.

"George Weasley's bedroom, The Burrow!"

With the familiar woosh of Floo travel Harry returned, thankful George had kept the fire in his room alight. He pulled the cloak from his body to see George stop mid-pace, relief flooding his pale features.

"Merlin Harry! It's been hours, its half past seven!" He screeched, unable to hide the relief in his voice "I thought – bloody hell Harry I thought you'd been thrown in Azkaban instead!"

"I didn't get out before I changed back, had to hide until it'd quietened down to get back." Harry explained, training his blurry vision on the bedside table on which he had left his glasses, pushing them clumsily back onto his face.

"So it worked?" George asked, his relief now giving way to excitement.

"Completely, just under five hours."

The excited whoop of response from George was infections and Harry couldn't help but grin, this was the happiest he'd seen him, since…

"Fred would have been over the moon." George said with a wistful smile, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "I'm going to open the shop again."

"That's great George! It really is." Harry replied wholeheartedly, pleased that George seemed to be improving.

"Well, if Fred were here he'd kill me if that had worked out and I didn't go back and open up." George reasoned, his wistful smile still ghosting his lips as he shrugged.

"I don't know if it will make a very marketable product just yet" Harry informed him with a grimace, spending the next ten minutes lost in conversation with George about the effects of the potion, the Weasley questioning him about every second.

"Oh, you'll probably want to see – you've made the headlines again. Good job we did get you that disguise" George said, throwing Harry a copy of the evening's Prophet. Looking down at the paper in his lap Harry skimmed the headline. 'Saviour Potter strikes again: Youngest Malfoy freed by Chosen One's testimony.' Harry glared at the headline, only his want to read the story holding him back from throwing it into the dying flames behind him.

"I had to do something. They'd already taken everything to pay for his mother…" Harry trailed off awkwardly, feeling the need to explain his actions, to explain why he'd sent the owl this morning, although he didn't really have an explanation for himself.

George shrugged in a sort of 'it's not my place to judge' gesture. "Do what you will, like the article says, you'll probably need counselling for your overwhelming hero complex that drives you to save the most questionable of characters." George mocked, a sarcastic smirk sweeping his features as Harry groaned. "Mum's saved you some food, you should probably go and see her before she goes insane."

"I will" Harry said, rising to his feet with the paper rolled in his fist. Pausing at the door, he turned back to face George.

"Thank you."

"Anytime" George replied, and Harry knew he meant it.

Descending the stairs Harry allowed himself to be subjected to the force that was Molly Weasley, feeding him as she faltered between scolding him for the risks of what he'd done (I mean, I know George is clever and all, but taking a potion he hasn't even tested! What if you'd been caught!), showering him in hugs for returning safely (I'm just glad you're back, eat it all up now) and a strange sort of praise for his testimony (Ignore Skeeter, she's deranged, you did what you thought you had to). Once his stomach was full and Mrs Weasley had settled Harry turned to her with a question of his own.

"Have you heard from Ron and Hermione?"

"Yes dear, they fire called a few hours ago. Safe and sound in a wizarding hostel just outside Melbourne, they're going to head to the address Hermione has tomorrow." She smiled, affectionately patting Harry on the shoulder. "They both sent their love."

Harry gave Molly a grateful smile before making a show of drawing out a ridiculously loud yawn and rising from the table.

"Goodnight dear" Mrs Weasley said with a knowing smile, turning her attention to a pile of washing which was magically folding itself under her careful wand.

Once in bed Harry lay back and unfolded the paper and read the story outlining Malfoy's trial. Rita Skeeter had, as Harry feared, spent most of the article questioning Harry's sanity for his testimony supporting Malfoy and his now exposed decision to save his life during the final battle. Despite that, the article was rather positive. The terms of Malfoy's probation were clear. He was to return to Hogwarts for to repeat his seventh year as an "eighth year" student, an opportunity which would be extended to all those who had not had chance to complete their exams. Despite now being of age his magic would be limited to the grounds of Hogwarts until his exams had been passed or be completely revoked. He would also, by appointment of the new headmistress McGonagall, be involved in the physical restoration of Hogwarts over the summer. Most of the magical rebuilding had been done but some areas of the castle, touched by the darkest magic, would have to be rebuilt by hand. Harry knew that McGonagall's involvement with Malfoy's probation would be to make clear to him the stark damage of dark magic – Harry knew, he had seen for himself the shell of Hogwarts a few days after the battle when he had returned. Yet he also knew that it was McGonagall's offering of forgiveness. Without a full education, a wizard couldn't gain standing in the world. Without the Manor and it's riches to fall back on, what would Malfoy do? For now, at least, McGonagall had shown him that he could earn forgiveness and at the least have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Harry was also pleased to note the Prophet had, in the little they'd spoken about Malfoy's appearance, acknowledged to some extent that Malfoy had been underage when joining the Death Eaters and that most of his actions had been under heavy emotional coercion.

Folding the paper and throwing it to the floor, Harry was just about to lift his wand to kill the light he'd used to read when he saw an owl at the window. The owl was a brilliant white, pale and beautiful. It seemed to be almost staring at Harry through the glass. At first Harry could have sworn he was imagining Hedwig gazing in at him apart from the eyes – the eyes were unlike any he'd seen in an owl before; a piercing grey stare. Almost as if the owl knew it had been caught staring it took off into the night sky.

Harry shook his head. He was seeing things, imagining Hedwig with different eyes. Besides, owls didn't stare. It was late and he was tired, the day had been long and wearing. Removing his glasses he sank into the pillows and he would not question when he awoke why he had slept the best he had since the war and why he only dreamed of a pale owl with piercing grey eyes.


	3. Going Back

Not much to say about this chapter apart from thanks again to all the lovely reviewers; AlwaysAnAussie, LadyWhiteRose2015, ErnEstine13624 - with a special thanks to AcadianProud for pointing out my glaringly awful typo in the previous chapter, now thankfully resolved!

Enjoy :)

* * *

Chapter Three

Going Back

As he returned to the list of careers that would not be possible without passing N.E.W.T's Harry found himself, for unknown reasons, wondering about Malfoy's future. He would, of course, be returning to Hogwarts as detailed in his probation. He had never thought about what Malfoy would do in life – he had never really thought much about Malfoy having a life, apart from obsessing over his dark involvements. As he scanned the lists he wondered if it even mattered, if even with the best N.E.W.T scores in history Harry doubted Malfoy would find it easy to gain himself employment. Although Harry was raised in the muggle world, he had quickly learnt that name and honour were important things in the wizarding world and dark status was not easily forgotten. Not allowing his mind to continue thoughts of Malfoy – why was he thinking about him so much, anyway? – Harry looked up to his best friends, curled up together on the sofa.

"Are you going back?" He asked neither one of them in particular. He knew he didn't really need to ask Hermione, education was like air to her and she couldn't possibly knowingly turn down the chance to take exams.

"Hermione is. I don't know… George offered me a job, at the shop, y'know with…" Ron trailed off, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Mum went spare." He announced, quickly changing the subject "She says she won't have another son not completing Hogwarts and besides, someone's got to stick with Hermione." At that Ron smiled down at her and she smiled back, leaving Harry feeling like he was invading on a very private moment which he should be far away from.

"How about you?" Hermione asked as if sensing his tension.

"Me? Yeah, I suppose." Harry shrugged , not having come to the decision himself until he had been asked. "I don't know what I want to do yet, and besides… Hogwarts is like…"

"Home" Hermione finished with a knowing smile.

As June progressed Harry saw a few more fleeting glimpses of the owl, the pale owl with pure white feathers and slate grey eyes. Upon seeing the owl for the second time Harry had asked Mrs Weasley if one of their newly adopted owls matched its description, but it didn't. When he saw it for the third time, he went to check himself, looking over each owl carefully even though not a single one was completely white. The fourth time he opened Ron's bedroom window, trying to reach out and grab the owl with no luck. After that, he didn't see the owl again.

June gave way to July, and July to August. Harry was still as numb as he had been the moment the war had ended. He was still working through the motions of life, acting as expected, keeping people happy. All three had decided, much to Mrs Weasley's pleasure, that they would return to Hogwarts. A trip to Diagon Alley for supplies had been awkward but necessary; Harry didn't know which he found worse, those who stared and whispered from afar or those who came straight up to him, as bold as day, requesting to shake his hand. He had done his duty, smiling and humbly dismissing the countless witches and wizards who approached him.

The evening they returned home from Diagon Alley a cross brown owl awaited Harry, giving him a sharp nip on the finger as he untied the letter from its leg as if punishing him for its wait.

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _Within your testimony for Draco Lucius Malfoy you claimed to have possession of the wand of Mister Malfoy; 10", hawthorn wood, unicorn hair. In your testimony you expressed a desire to return the wand to its owner. As per the terms of his probation, Mister Malfoy has been unable to cast magic this summer, however, as he returns to Hogwarts his wand shall be required._

 _If you are still in possession of, and willing to return the wand of Mister Malfoy he and his Ministry appointed probation officer from the Magical Law Enforcement department will be at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tomorrow at noon. A Floo port will be opened for you directly to Headmisstress McGonogall's office at this time only._

 _Regards,_

 _Melinda Booth_

"Are you gonna go?" Ron's voice asked from over Harry's shoulder.

"Honestly, Ronald, you shouldn't read other peoples post." Hermione admonished softly. Before Harry could respond he smiled, glad that Ron hadn't completely changed in his new found relationship with Hermione.

"I'll have to. He probably can't afford to get a new one right now anyway." He reasoned and although it was true, it was only half a reason. Harry wanted to go, to see Malfoy. To see for himself how he was doing, if he was still as pale, frail and scared as he had seemed at his trial.

Ron whistled lowly through his teeth. "Never thought I'd see the day Malfoy couldn't afford something" He commented, although there was neither smirk nor humour in his tone – a pre-war Ron would have been thrilled that Malfoy of all people couldn't afford something he could. Harry thought to himself that some of the changes Hermione had inspired in Ron weren't that bad after all.

Harry retired early that night, unable to contain the nerves he felt at the prospect of meeting Malfoy and even less willing to attempt to explain them. As he reached the bedroom he shared with Ron which was rapidly become his own a sight instantly caught his eye.

The owl.

It was there again – it had been gone for so long Harry had convinced himself he had been imagining it, a vision from his tired and war-added mind. Yet it was back, unmistakably as pale and beautiful as it had been before, its startling grey eyes staring into the room.

In a blink, it was gone.

Sighing as he dropped onto his bed, Harry reached into the drawer beside him. Removing the now familiar wand he twirled it in his fingers, the wood light between his fingers. His mind cast back to the day after disarmed Malfoy, the night after the scene at the Manor. Ollivander had confirmed… The wand had changed its allegiance and was now technically Harry's. It had worked well for him, though not as well as his own had once worked. It always, especially after the battle, felt alien in Harry's hand, a constant reminder of Malfoy. Before destroying the Elder Wand he had used it to repair his own, the 11" holly much more at home in Harry's palm. So his unease did not come from returning the wand, no. He knew his unease came from seeing Malfoy again. Rather than give dangerous thought to why this was he allowed himself to give into sleep, the owl once again visiting him in his dreams.

* * *

Harry awoke early, showered, tried (and failed) to eat something and dressed. He tried to read Quidditch Quarterly but struggled to get past the first article announcing the commencement of the new league after the war. His thoughts were scattered by the upcoming meeting and he took to pacing the bedroom floor, continually patting the pocket beneath his robes where two wands knocked together, side by side on his leg.

After what seemed like an eternity, it was time to go. He went downstairs, thankful that the warm August day had driven most of the family outside to enjoy the sunshine in whatever way they could. Reaching for some Floo powder he took a deep, calming breath, trying to remind himself that this was only Malfoy, of all people, and he was simply going to return a wand then he'd be back. He would have done everything he needed to concerning him; saved his life, saved him from Azkaban and returned his wand. Surely then he would stop thinking about the drawn, pale face at uncomfortably frequent intervals, for there was no other reason - rather than his Gryffindor morals and nobility willing him to see this through – for him to be thinking of Draco Malfoy. Thoughts settled, Harry threw the powder into the flames and stepped in as they turned green with a firm sense of determination.

Harry took a moment to take in the large, circular office which now belonged to McGonagall. Nothing much had changed since the office had belonged to Dumbledore and Harry found himself wondering if Snape had, during his time as headmaster, preserved the office as it was. He felt an uncomfortable stab in his stomach as he thought of the potions master, now in the knowledge he had been much more than Harry had ever thought of him. Realising there would surely be portraits of both Dumbledore and Snape somewhere Harry took a step from the side of the fireplace, shifting into the main room of the office with searching eyes before a gentle, but purposeful, cough startled him from his thoughts.

The owner of the gesture was a tall, burly looking wizard who Harry instantly knew must be Malfoy's parole officer. Harry frowned at the thought, surely – what with all the dark witches and wizards the Ministry was currently holding, such an intimidating Magical Law Enforcement officer shouldn't be placed with Malfoy? He had no way of performing magic, for Merlin's sake! Then realisation dawned on Harry that, of course, with his status as the Chosen One the Ministry would see fit to have the heaviest hand they could watch over this meeting. He fought the urge to roll his eyes before realising why both he and the wizard were there, Malf-

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter." A familiar greeting broke Harry's thoughts causing him to spin around in the opposite direction. It was not, however, Professor McGonogall who commanded Harry's initial attentions despite her warm welcome, it was the figure sitting in the chair beside her desk. Malfoy was sitting as straight as he possibly could, back pressed against the wood in a position so firm it made Harry half-wonder if the wizard behind him had cast another holding charm on Malfoy as he had been under in the Wizengamot. Pushing the unwelcome thought from his mind he took in the rest of Malfoy's appearance; his chin was lifted with his usual arrogance, grey eyes fixed firmly and determinedly ahead, looking anywhere but Harry. Anyone who were not to know Malfoy would be easily fooled that his old personality had returned; arrogant, haughty and uninterested. Harry, however, was not fooled by the blonde's cool exterior; after the countless hours, days, weeks and months spent watching him during sixth year, Harry felt he knew more. For some time Harry had been able to decipher the subtle ways in which Malfoy's eyes relayed the emotions his body tried to hide – firstly, the horror in his eyes the awful night at the Astronomy tower, then the pure fear they had held in the Room of Requirement as Harry saved him from the fire and most recently, the broken, terrified sadness they had given away during his trial.

Dragging his thoughts – and eyes – from Malfoy, Harry returned the headmistress warm welcome. "Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall." He replied as she bustled him over, indicating for him to take the seat beside Malfoy who made no acknowledgement of this move.

"Now, I know you are here, Mister Potter, to return Mister Malfoy's wand. First, however, I would like to take this moment to discuss with you your impending eight year enrolment at Hogwarts." McGonagall seemed to eye both boys as if carefully considering her next words. "Now, I trust, given the actions which were relayed during Mister Malfoy's trial that there is no longer any animosity between you two in any significant amounts. However, I feel I must impress on both of you the rules and expectations of which I am well aware you have both made a spectacular job of ignoring during your previous years." Despite her firm tone, McGonagall's lips seemed to curl into what could almost be considered a fond smile, which Harry returned before she continued. "This year, the eyes of the students – and the rest of the wizarding world – will be on you both more than ever before. Mister Potter, I feel no need to remind you of the gravity of your services to wizard kind and Mister Malfoy, I feel we have made your position clear in our meetings this summer."

Harry watched with a mixture of surprise and interest and McGonagall and Malfoy exchanged glances, Malfoy giving nothing away as he responded to her words with a curt nod. Malfoy and Professor McGonagall… having meetings? What about? Harry knew, of course, that he must have been forgiven by the headmistress to be sheltered and fed in Hogwarts over the summer – yes, it was due to his involvement in the restoration of Hogwarts as part of his reparations to wizarding society, but Harry knew McGonagall had chosen such a term to keep him safe. Although Harry had worked this out, he hadn't considered any further relationship behind the student and professor and he couldn't help but wonder…

"So, for both of you, it is imperative that your behaviour is of the upmost standard, especially towards each other." McGonagall continued, snapping Harry back to the present. "I feel that any tensions should be aired now, in the hopes of an eventless year."

Neither boy said anything and the silence seemed to stretch for an eternity, until the wizard Harry had almost completely forgotten about broke the silence.

"Mister Malfoy has something he would like to say." His words didn't sound as gentle as McGonagall's which suggested it wasn't something that Malfoy wanted to say at all, rather than something he had to. The lack of surprise in Malfoy's features confirmed for Harry that this was a conversation he had already had rehearsed to him. Malfoy, somewhat reluctantly, pushed himself to his feet and stood before Harry. Before he could open his lips Harry stood too, feeling dwarfed and uncomfortable sitting as Malfoy stood before him – when had he gotten so tall?

"Thank you." Malfoy said, his words strained and although he looked at Harry, his grey eyes were not really seeing, not connecting with Harry's in the way he wished they would so he could search them for information. "For saving me; in the battle… and your letter." He amended, as if knowing the first words would not be enough for the wizard behind him who, Harry saw from the corner of his eye, nod with a mixture of both approval and a push for something more.

"Well, s'ok… I mean, you saved me first, so…" Harry mumbled awkwardly, taken aback by the gratitude – even if it was forced – then cursing himself for not having a better response. But what would have said? 'So… I had to?' No, that wasn't it. He didn't _have_ to. 'So… I wanted to?'. 'So… as it happens, you might be a git but you aren't your father so I couldn't bloody well let you die in there, could I?' followed by 'And after I'd saved your arse, I wasn't going to let it rot behind bars for the rest of eternity, was I?'

No, nothing Harry could say was right.

Noting the look he was cast from his probation officer, Malfoy brought his eyes to Harry's, a flash of grey to green. Harry was disappointed to see they had been carefully devoid of all emotion – then surprised to see a hand extend with pale, bony fingers.

A handshake. Harry could count all the times Malfoy had offered him his hand without difficulty. Only twice; the first on his first night of Hogwarts when Harry had rejected his friendship, the second in the burning Room of Requirement as Harry had grabbed desperately to save him.

Both thoughts were uncomfortable and he pushed both from his mind, extending his own to grasp Malfoy's. The shake was firm but brief. Malfoy withdrew his hand first, giving Harry a curt nod before he returned to his seat. Somewhat awkwardly Harry mirrored his actions, returning to his previous sitting place.

"Er, Professor… There might be a problem with, y'know, Malfoy's wand." Harry admitted awkwardly, wanting a distraction from the tension of the moment, looking anywhere but Malfoy as he delivered the news.

"Problem?" McGonagall enquired calmly, quirking an eyebrow for an explanation.

"Yes, you see… I took it from Malfoy in the Manor, I – well I disarmed him and Olivander said – well, he said the wand hand changed its allegiance to me." Harry explained, not for the first time nervously rolling his hand against his pocket to feel both wands snugly in place.

"I see," McGonagall replied, the news not appearing to faze her in the slightest. "Simple enough to resolve, Mister Malfoy will need to willingly borrow the wand of another to disarm you as you hold his wand and the allegiance will return to him."

"That's absolutely out of the question!" A voice spluttered from the back of the room as the wizard guarding Malfoy left his standing spot to come and join them. "He isn't allowed to use magic until the school term begins and that's the entire reason I'm here. Especially use magic against him!" He exclaimed with a frantic gesture toward Harry. "They'd have my job!"

Harry felt a surge of anger towards the wizard he was unable to repress. What on earth would Malfoy really do to him, in a room with his probation officer and headmistress? More to the point, what would Malfoy even want to do, Harry had saved him twice and Malfoy had saved him before that, surely it was clear that – whilst still, and probably always, far from friends – they were no longer enemies? Such matters as schoolyard enemies seemed trivial now, anyway, paling in significance when compared to the horrors of the war.

A sudden flash of genius crossed Harry's mind, clouding through his anger. He didn't damn well like being the Chosen One, but what use was it putting up with the crap if he didn't use it to his advantage once in a while?

"Well, then, my journey has been a complete waste of time." Harry said, affecting what he hoped was a suitably sneering tone (inwardly basing himself on Malfoy throughout their Hogwarts years, though he wouldn't admit that) "I shall have to owl the Ministry when I get home and tell them that their officer guarding Mister Malfoy was so… incapable of doing his job he didn't feel adequate enough to allow an eighteen year old wizard – recently proven to not be dark or dangerous at all – near someone who defeated Voldemort."

The wizard seemed to jolt as if smacked by Harry's words and became increasingly agitated under his gaze, shifting from foot to foot. "Well, I suppose, no need to bother calling the Ministry in over something like this – ha! Like you say, your perfectly capable of defending yourself, Mister Potter, I would never suggest otherwise – of course not, no, never." The Gryffindor in Harry scolded him for making the poor wizard look so uncomfortable but for now he pushed the feeling away. He had to do what he came here to do – return the wand – then he would be home and this would all be over. He could go back to The Burrow, safe in the knowledge that he had done everything he needed to in regards to Malfoy, and move on with his life.

"I'll just, I'll be in my office, in case they pick up on it. Say you asked for me to leave, Mister Potter? Malfoy, you know where to find me, as soon as he leaves. Paperwork to sign." The wizard finished his flustering and left the room in a sweep of robes before anyone could respond further.

"Here, Mister Malfoy, you may use my wand. Using Mister Potter's may interfere with the allegiance of the wands involved as your wand has it currently works for him, don't want to confuse the magic anymore. Mister Potter, the Floo will remain open until such a time when you leave. I'm afraid I must return to the grounds and check on the rebuilding status. I trust I will see yourself, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger come September?" McGonagall asked, handing Malfoy her wand as she gazed toward Harry.

"You will, Professor. Thank you." Harry replied, returning the witches knowing smile before she swept from the room.

Harry was suddenly aware he was alone with Malfoy. Well, as alone as you could be with almost a hundred ex- headmasters and headmistresses watching from their frames. However, this thought did little to quell a twisting feeling that had been brought up as soon as McGonagall had mentioned the rebuilt. He moved to the window, gazing out across the grounds.

The walls of the castle that his position enabled him to see were mostly repaired, with a group of wizards gathered round sliding what appeared to be a final few stones into place. Looking out across the grounds, however, told a different story. Harry swallowed thickly to fight the rise of emotion, blinking to fight back the tears threatening to flood his eyes as he saw the quidditch pitch. It was nothing but a burnt out shell. Only one of the four stands remained, swaying precariously despite the still August air.

"Awful, isn't it?" Malfoy whispered from behind him as if reading his thoughts, his words more a statement than a question. Harry nodded somewhat numbly, wrenching his gaze from the window and turning back to Malfoy. As his eyes left the pitch and returned to the blonde he couldn't help thinking to himself that Malfoy appeared just as broken, though he hid it well.

"That was quite clever, Potter, very cunning… Almost believed you myself." Malfoy said, undoubtedly referring to his earlier berating of Malfoy's parole officer.

"Well, the Sorting Hat did want to put me in Slytherin." Harry shrugged, unable to explain where the sudden admission had come from. To his credit Malfoy appeared to take it with indifference although Harry noted the tell-tale flash of emotion – surprise – in his eyes. "So, let's get this over with." He said uncomfortably, drawing Malfoy's wand from his pocket.

Malfoy nodded, pulling McGonagall's wand to his side, flexing it almost carefully in his fingers and Harry knew he was getting used to the feel of different magic in his hands. Harry shifted himself somewhat awkwardly, unsure how to stand. He was willingly going to allow Malfoy to disarm him, so positioning himself for a duel wasn't appropriate, yet he didn't just want to stand there…

"Ready?" Malfoy asked, shaking him from his thoughts. In response Harry merely nodded, lifting Malfoy's want to his side and grasping it firmly – he knew that for the spell to work the magic would need to feel that its owner wanted to retain the wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy called, pointing McGonagall's wand, shooting a stream of red light towards Harry which freed him of Malfoy's wand in an instant. Malfoy caught his wand with ease, the reflexes of a seeker that Harry recognised well. He watched for a moment, seeing the happiness that Malfoy did not attempt to mask as he was returned his wand, rolling the familiar wood through his fingertips.

"I'll be going, then…" Harry muttered somewhat awkwardly, turning to the fireplace only a few steps across the room. "I suppose I'll be seeing you in September." He added, unsure how else to end the highly irregular meeting.

"Yes… I suppose you will." Malfoy replied. Despite his straight face there was a strange look in his eyes that Harry couldn't quite place, making him feel a little uneasy. Breaking the gaze he turned and without looking back disappeared into the flames and back to The Burrow.

Harry stepped from the flames and checked his watch, half past 12. Merlin, he'd only been gone for half an hour but it felt an entire day had passed. A faint rumble in his stomach reminded him that with the tension of the meeting he'd skipped breakfast. Surely, the Weasley's would be gathered in the kitchen soon, Mrs Weasley making a delicious lunch…

"Harry?" A tentative voice asked, snapping him from his daydreams of food. He turned to see Ginny, standing somewhat awkwardly by the entrance to the room almost as if she'd been waiting for his return. "Can I have a word?"

Managing the best smile he could Harry gave a nod "Sure, shall we… er…" He trailed off, nodding toward the overstuffed armchairs by the fire. With a thankful nod Ginny took a seat as Harry did the same. The silence was tense and awkward, strained as neither of them really knew where to look. Harry cringed inwardly to himself, he knew this conversation had been a long time coming, he really just had to find his backbone and get it over with.

"I'm sorry, I know I said I'd –"

"I'm sorry, I know you've been bu-"

Both voices broke the silence at the same time and despite themselves, both chuckled softly. Instantly feeling a little more relaxed Harry took the ease in tension as an opportunity to look over at the redhead sitting in front of him.

"I am sorry, I know I said I'd talk to you after it was all over, I've just…" He trailed off, the ease in the room suddenly fading as the tension resurfaced, floundering with the weight of the words he didn't know how to say.

"I know," Ginny replied kindly, her eyes telling him that – although she may not like it – she understood. "That's why I thought, with us all going back to school and all, it'd be better to get this out now. I'm guessing I just… I mean…"

"You have every right to ask," Harry assured her, feeling a stab of guilt for the look in her eyes. "It's just… We all thought everything would just go back after the war and… Well… I suppose it just…"

"Not everything works out, Harry, even if we want it to." She said softly, her brown eyes now full of sadness which made the stab of guilt in Harry's stomach press deeper.

"I want you to be happy. I thought… before the war… that when it was all over I'd be able to but… I can't." Harry cringed at the feeble excuse in his own words, trying to ignore the response to Ginny's words that echoed in his mind, when she had said ' _even if we want it to'_ Harry's instant thought had been ' _what if I didn't want it to'._

"I was afraid you'd say that." She said, a soft, sad smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe…. You just need time?"

The hope in her eyes made Harry need to look away; down at the floor, out of the window, anywhere but Ginny. The stab of guilt had now turned into a sea that was drowning him, telling him subconsciously that time was the last thing he needed, that even if he lived to be as old as Nicholas Flamel, time would never be enough. Why? He asked himself. There was nothing wrong with Ginny. She was smart, kind, certainly attractive… Yet she wasn't right, she wasn't enough, she wasn't what he needed. What else could he need? Tearing himself from his own frustrations, he realised he'd left silence for some time. Although words still failed him he returned is gaze, trying his best to offer a reassuring smile.

As if sensing not to push him further, Ginny rose to her feet and said "Mum's waited for you to start lunch, it should be ready soon." With that, she swept from the room and Harry tried his hardest to tell himself he had imagined the sniff of tears as she left.

As he sat round the table for lunch Harry found his earlier appetite well and truly lost. He dutifully ate from the pile of sandwiches before him, allowing the conversation around the table to carry over him as he focused anywhere but Ginny.

"We're going for a fly this afternoon mate, you fancy it?" Ron asked him, obviously eager to make the most of freedom before they returned to Hogwarts. Harry was sure in that moment it was the best idea that Ron had ever had.

"Harry?" A soft hand on his arm held him back in the hallway as he left to get his broom. He turned, thankful to find that it wasn't the girl he'd been refusing to look at all through lunch, but Hermione. Not that he had been looking at Hermione – no, not at all. Harry strongly doubted that even his status as best friend, Chosen One, and saviour of the wizarding world would stop Ron beating him to a pulp if he thought he was after his girlfriend.

"She didn't expect anything, you know." Hermione told him, taking his silence as an invitation to speak. "Hoped, definitely… But she didn't expect. In all honesty I think she already knew, she just needed you to tell her."

Hermione was definitely too wise for her own good, Harry thought as she pulled him into a hug, she knew just how to make him feel better.

"I'm happy for you, for you and Ron," Harry told her as he pulled from the hug, suddenly needed to cling to the thought of a good relationship out there in the world. "I don't think I ever said, but I am… You deserve to be happy."

The smile on the witches face before him widened at the mention of Ron's name, yet it turned sad, almost wistful, once again as she returned his words. "So do you Harry… And you will be."

"HARRY!" A voice hollered from outside, reminding him that he should be getting his broom.

"Go on, enjoy yourself." Hermione smiled, pointing her wand up the stairs and calling "Accio Harry's Firebolt!"

"I always forget about that…" He chucked, red faced as he took the broom and disappeared to join his friends.

As it turned out, flying that afternoon was definitely the best idea Ron had ever had. They flew for hours, tossing old quaffles between them in a mock game of Quidditch and raced from one end of the Burrow to another. Harry pushed himself until his limbs ached relishing in the freedom it gave him.

That night as he climbed into bed he was exhausted. Spent from the emotional and physical force of his day Harry tumbled into the covers, so tired that on this occasion he failed to notice the feathered wings that fluttered down to settle on the window ledge, and the piercing grey eyes that stared in.


	4. A Choice

A shorter chapter this week I'm afraid! Slightly different to normal as its a Draco P.O.V (point of view).. I wanted to try and show things from his perspective and I prefer writing from Draco's P.O.V than Harry's really... But, as ever, let me know what you think about it! Should I go back to Harry and stick with him or continue changing perspective? I've got a few Draco P.O.V scenes lined up but I'm sure they can change if people don't like it!

As ever thanks to my wonderful reviewers, I love reading your thoughts and ideas about what's happening! Thank you; LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624 , Sherlock'sScarf17 and

Enjoy! :)

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Chapter Four

A Choice

Draco Malfoy placed the last back-breaking stone into the wall before him and sighed heavily. The work McGonagall had offered him as reparation for his war crimes was, in fact, little punishment at all. The work was physical, difficult and quite frequently left him exhausted. There was no time to think as he worked and when the bell tolled to signal the end of the working day he was often too exhausted to do anything but eat and sleep. He was glad of it, glad of the distraction. Funnily enough, almost a month in a Ministry of Magic holding cell had given him plenty of time to think.

When he arrived at Hogwarts McGonagall had given him access to her office to Firecall his mother. She'd told him of her move to France, told him how the wizarding elite over there still thought highly of their name and how she would rebuild their reputation before he left Hogwarts, promising him a home to return to. She had also, in a scene which was most unlike his mother, broken down. She had told him how she still loved Lucius deeply, but she was leaving him. " _You know we had the same ideals, Draco. You know we both believed the same, about the muggle-borns and blood traitors. But there are different ways to… Your father didn't need to go to such extremes… He was so… He made you… You paid his debt, you we're just a boy, you never…_ " She had said before breaking down into sobs, promising to write soon and vanishing from the Fireplace.

Writing would definitely be preferable to witnessing such a scene again, Malfoy thought. He knew his mother and father loved each other, but he was not surprised to hear that she was divorcing him. On the face of it, it was typical Slytherin self-preservation. She had Draco had been acquitted, Lucius had not. If they were to rebuild their name and pride they would cut him off, as easily as a Herbologist would cut a dying bud from a plant they were cultivating. However, Draco knew it wasn't just that. His father's time in Azkaban before the war had changed him deeply. He'd always been… _strict,_ on both Draco and his mother. Strict, but loving. His words had always been firm, his expectations always high, but he had always supported Draco. He had bought Draco onto the house quidditch team after Draco had spent the entire summer complaining that Potter was the youngest seeker in a century and he'd found Draco a seat in the Minister's box at the Quidditch world cup. He had been firm, but he had been a father. However, when he returned from Azkaban, when his name with the Dark Lord was in tatters, he was… Draco willed himself not to think of it. The way he had allowed The Dark Lord to take his home, his son… Offering everything he had to seek forgiveness. He knew his mother didn't approve, yet she hid it well. Draco had not been so careful and he had been punished accordingly. They were dark times, he had been isolated, alone and he didn't wish to recall them.

Then had come the meeting with Potter. It had been two days since the meeting and it still made Draco uncomfortable to recall it.

It was hard enough knowing that Potter had saved his life once during the battle. That, Draco could live with – he'd saved Potter at the Manor, unwilling to simply hand him over. He still battled with himself as to exactly why he'd done that. They'd treated him badly – unspeakably - his own family. Well, his mother never had… But his father, Lucius and his supposed _Aunt_ Bellatrix... They'd offered him up like a lamb to the slaughter to save the Malfoy name, forcing the Dark Mark upon him and to take The Dark Lord's bidding on his shoulders. With those things, he had no choice. But with identifying Potter… They wouldn't know; they'd never know that Malfoy knew exactly who it was, that he knew even before Bellatrix and pulled him closer that they had, indeed, caught Harry Potter. They would never know and so Draco was free to this one act of rebellion, free to have a choice.

That's what he had told himself, anyway. That was the only reason he'd saved Potter. Not because he cared, or anything like that.

So that was why it had been ok when Potter saved him from the fire in the Room of Requirement. He'd saved his life and now the debt had been repaid. Simple. Potter had as much as admitted it himself. During that awful meeting. Potter's response to his forced thank you came swimming clearly into Malfoy's memory;

" _Well, s'ok… I mean, you saved me first, so…"_

So, you had to, Malfoy finished the unspoken words. The wizards on Potter's side weren't thick. Weasley, blood traitor as he was, was pureblood after all and would have likely told Potter of the consequences of life debts after they'd escaped the Manor, and that Mud- Muggle-born Granger would have probably _read about_ it somewhere….

Except that now, it wasn't so simple. Potter had to go and act the hero again. He had to be such a bloody noble _saviour_ and write a testimony supporting Draco at his trial. He had to go and save him again; now Draco had a debt to owe. It wasn't a life debt, of course. Draco hadn't been in mortal peril. It was a debt of honour and if anything, that was worse. To add further insult, Potter had sent Granger to watch his trial, to watch over as his testimony was given because of course the Chosen One was probably far too busy for such trivial things as trials of pathetic, childhood ex-Death Eaters… What had disturbed Draco more – not that he would ever admit it to anyone – was that he had been thankful. Thankful for the bloody frizzy-haired, buck-toothed Mudbl - _Muggle-born_ Draco reminded himself - who'd probably only come to watch over what happened to Potter's investment rather than Malfoy himself. Even worse was the way Draco had begun, even in his thoughts, to stray from the term 'Mudblood'. As he'd watched the war progress he would have been a fool to deny Grangers raw magical power. During their time at Hogwarts he'd told himself anyone could learn anything from books, but in the war… She was different, powerful. He could no longer believe that bringing her into a place where her talents could be nurtured, used, celebrated, was a drain on wizard kind. Further, he couldn't help feeling – even if it was only on Potter's orders – _thankful_ that she had attended his trial, a familiar face in the sea of despair…

Father would be disgusted.

But…

He didn't have to think like his father now, did he? For the first time, he had a choice.

Potter had been given a choice, in his first year. The Sorting Hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin. Draco turned this new piece of information over in his mind. He wasn't wasting his time day-dreaming of what ifs; what if Potter had been sorted into Slytherin? What if they'd become... Friends? What if Potter had been truly turned by Slytherin and joined with The Dark Lord? The last one made a large, unsavoury shudder run down Draco's spine. He definitely wasn't wasting time thinking of what ifs. No, he was wondering what he could do from now, if he was given the choice.

Slytherin certainly was a place which valued many of the things he held dear. Cunning, cleverness, careful calculations… And a high regard for old-fashioned Wizardry and Pureblood status. The war may have changed the way he viewed Dark magic and The Dark Lord's agenda, but he wasn't about to let go over his Pureblood ideals, engrained in him from birth, overnight. Granger may have presented herself as an exception, but he still didn't celebrate the way Muggle-borns came into their society, unknowing of their ways - and worse brining their strange muggle customs into the wizarding world. Besides, he mused, plenty of powerful Pureblood families held such ideals without resorting to the… methods of The Dark Lord. Blaise Zabini; his blood ran as pure as Draco's and despite his contempt for muggle-borns and blood traitor's, his family had never aligned themselves with dark magic. Then there was Pansy; Draco's stomach twisted a little painfully at the thought of his close friend. Her family, too, had been Pureblood and although not in as deep as the Malfoy's, they were supporters of the Dark Lord. But Pansy, during their last few months of seventh year before the battle, had begun to confide in Draco about her doubts, her fears… Her family had absconded, escaping the country whilst the battle still raged, saving themselves from what they had determined quite correctly to be a lost cause. She was safe, Draco knew, through coded owls and as they weren't as close to The Dark Lords inner circle, the Ministry wouldn't be hunting for them anytime soon. Then, of course, there were wizards in Slytherin who were as blinded led by The Dark Lord as his father had been. Crabbe… Malfoy almost sneered as he thought of how he met his end, in the flames he had conjured himself. He should have put money on him making his own demise, what a bloody idiot. He only had himself to blame, Malfoy had specifically instructed them against dark magicthat night in Room of Requirement and Crabbe had defied him. Goyle had not – last he heard, with his father killed in battle, Goyle and his mother had fled to Germany whilst Aurors ransacked their home.

Even given the choice, Draco highly doubted he could belong anywhere else. Hufflepuff? Definitely not. Not Gryffindor, either. That thought was unthinkable. Ravenclaw… Perhaps. Slytherin's and Ravenclaws had always been allies of some form, both with a great value on intelligence. Although Ravenclaw's used their intelligence alongside truth and honesty; Draco highly doubted he could truly celebrate use of intelligence that wasn't cunning or underhand in some way…

That wasn't the choice Draco really had to make, anyway. He was a Slytherin to his core and even so their housing would only matter for another year at most. The choice was what he would do with his life now, who he would become now free from his father's influence; a choice he was highly unlikely to make over his evening meal of Pumpkin Pie.

Then, of course, was the significantly substantial problem that he couldn't stop thinking of Potter. Thinking of Potter _constantly_. Obsessing over him, if truth be told, over why when he looked at Draco he seemed to… _care_. Merlin, the sooner he figured out a way to repay his debt, for saving him yet again, the better. That was the only problem, he told himself, the only reason he couldn't get Potter out of his mind. Then he'd be able to stop retiring to bed each night with thoughts of Potter, he'd be able to stop his vastly increasing need to go and –

"Mister Malfoy?"

Draco's attention snapped from his thoughts and back to reality. He gazed around, seeing he was now almost completely alone in the Great Hall and their meal was long since over. Turning to the voice which had addressed him he managed a nod.

"Sorry, Professor. I was thinking." He replied, his guard now allowing itself to be only half in place around McGonagall. The witch was understanding yet firm, which Draco appreciated. She had helped him beyond any expectation, offering the rebuilding of Hogwarts to the Wizengamot as a method of reparation for him as they battled on how to suitably punish him in light of the evidence that he wasn't actually as dark as many of them had first believed. He had been grateful for her help and he was respectful. Potter's testimony had ensured he wasn't rotting in Azkaban, but without McGonagall he didn't know where he would be. The work she had tied him into had given him meals, a bed, distraction from his thoughts and most importantly, forgiveness.

"I could tell," she replied, offering a small smile as she motioned for him to stand. "Come, there are some things I would like to discuss with you, before students return on Monday."

Draco swallowed at this. Of course, September was almost here. The castle was completely rebuilt and all that remained as the restoration of the Quidditch pitch and the restoration of plants and wildlife around the Black Lake. The Quidditch pitch would be continued to be worked on under a magical veil of illusion to save students from the horror of its appearance and the lake would become a herbology project for N.E.W.T students, Draco had learnt that much from the conversations he overheard as he worked. Surely that wasn't what she wished to speak to him about, was it? Had she… Draco paled as much as his already white skin would allow. She hadn't – She didn't – know, did she? His mind began to race, she'd asked him for honesty and he'd obliged, in most areas, but there was one part of him he'd kept to himself, the only secret he kept which allowed him to be free…

He told himself firmly to get a grip and arranged his features into a suitably bland expression as he followed the headmistress from the Great Hall to her office. There was no reason for her to know, although… She'd proven herself as someone who could help Draco, perhaps even someone he could trust. She had, one night, told him of Professor Snape's turn and the reasons behind it. Malfoy had been complete at a loss for words, hardly daring to believe it. Snape had, for all this time, not been the spy that Voldemort had believed him to be but had actually been… And for _Potter's mother_ , of all people… He wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for the look he took at his favourite professors portrait and seen the wistful, yet sombre expression looking down at him. " _You are young, Mister Malfoy. You have been given a chance, do not be a fool_." The potions master and former headmaster had told him before sweeping from his gold gilded frame. After that meeting Draco had confided much in her that he would have refused to believe he would have even spoken to his own mother about before the war. His mark, his mission… His tortured inner debate as he hung in limbo between two sides of a divide. Maybe, if she knew of his… Well, it wouldn't be so bad and she could help him. Keeping his face straight as they approached her office and she gave the password he steadfastly refused to acknowledge the way his stomach had knotted itself uncomfortably.

"Please take a seat, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall requested, leading him to her desk with a flourish of robes. "I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that you are the only student from your house returning to Hogwarts to repeat their seventh – or rather, enter their eighth year." She told him, peering down at him from across the table. She was right; this came as no surprise to Draco. The students from dark families were either in Azkaban, had fled the country or were dead. Those who had not ever sided with the Dark Lord… Well, they hardly needed to return to Hogwarts, did they? Slytherin's were notably wealthy; born into rich, well-established wizarding families. With the understanding around their lack of N.E.W.T scores and a family name which would see them into any job they hardly needed to return.

"Indeed, there were losses on both sides of the war, Mister Malfoy. Some unable to return, some unwilling…" She trailed off, clearing her throat before continuing with purpose. "Either way, the dormitories are not equipped for an additional eight year quarters and given the number of pupils returning we see fit to provide yourselves with a dormitory of your own. You were all touched by this war, in greater ways than the students below you, as you were of age and able to fight. We feel it best that you are given a space where you may heal together away from the prying eyes of the school."

Malfoy's head was whirling. This was certainly not what he had expected. Share a dormitory with the rest of his year group? Who no doubt, having read about his trial in the papers, hated him? At least if he had returned to Slytherin he would have been somewhat welcome, using his status to command fearful respect from the younger students. But now he would have to live with _Potter_ –

"I am not, however, a complete imbecile, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall continued as if reading Malfoy's thoughts. "I know that this will not be easy for you and this is why I have come to offer you a choice. Your co-existence with your fellow year group will be compulsory yet sleeping arrangements may be considered. We will of course have two wings, male and female. The wings are equipped with four floors. We reasoned the best way would be to sort by house, that way giving students at least some connections to their previous time at Hogwarts. You may choose a house to sleep with or you may take a sleeping quarter alone."

The answer was simple, wasn't it? After his thoughts earlier… He knew he didn't belong in any of the other houses.

"Alone." He answered without missing a beat.

McGonagall sighed, as if she had known the answer and resigned herself to it. "I thought, perhaps Ravenclaw…?"

Malfoy shook his head firmly. Yes, the returning Ravenclaw students would be the best of a bad choice. They would value his intelligence and take the logic from his trial; that he had been acquitted and forgiven. But it wouldn't be right. "Alone." He repeated firmly "At… At the top floor, so I can keep to myself."

"Solitude will not save you from your demons, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall replied in a quiet, sombre tone. "You will do well to remember that as this year progresses. You have been acquitted and pardoned, for many crimes you had no real choice in."

Malfoy nodded curtly. She had assured him of this many times, yet he didn't believe her. People didn't just forgive. They didn't just forget, not even if Harry bloody Potter had supported him. The thought of Potter startled him again. Merlin, an eighth year dormitory…. That would mean even more time around Potter. More time thinking about him, watching him… He had to solve his bloody problem with him, and soon.

"I must express to you that as the school resumes on Monday I will not be as available as I have been. My door will always be open, Mister Malfoy, but if there is anything else you need to ask, anything I can help with, now is the time to speak."

Malfoy didn't know what it was. He didn't know if it was the fact he had been subconsciously expecting her to challenge his… situation since she called upon him in the Great Hall. He didn't know if it was because she had taken the care to forewarn him of what the year ahead would bring, or if it was because she had helped him so much already.

He didn't know why, but he trusted her.

"I…" He trailed off, wondering how to tell her as their eyes met.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to tell me, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall said stopping him and, to his surprise, she smiled.


	5. Repaying Debts

As I didn't receive any feedback which disliked the Draco P.O.V, this chapter is a mix between both boy's views as the story builds up. I've almost written all the way to the end now (eeeek!) but will still post around once a week because chapters need editing, proof reading, etc and I may be tempted to completely change some parts!

As ever, thank you to everyone who has reviewed; LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624 (it's lovely to have such regular readers!) and PuppetPrince.

And, as ever, enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **Repaying Debts**

As the desserts magically disappeared from before their eyes, McGonagall rose to speak again. "First years, you will follow your new house Prefects to your dormitories. Eighth year students, you will please remain in your seats." A murmur rose through the hall as people inevitably turned to look over at Harry. Of course, The Prophet had covered his return to Hogwarts which, annoying as it was, had provided Harry with the misplaced comfort that people wouldn't feel the need to stare at him quite as much. Apparently, he was wrong. Eventually the tables cleared and there were only the eighth year students remaining. Harry took this opportunity to take in his fellow classmates. He, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Dean were the only students sitting at the Gryffindor table. Seamus had both taken a magical apprentiship back home in Ireland – much more to please his mother than himself, Dean had told them… The Patil family had moved away from England shortly after the war, and Lavender… Harry did not allow himself to recall the memory of her funeral, forcing himself to continue his inventory of students. Only two Hufflepuffs and only one of whom Harry recognised, Ernie Macmillan. The Ravenclaws vastly outnumbered them all with 6 returning, hardly surprising, considering the Ravenclaw value on intelligence; of course, a free pass on N.E.W.T's would not be acceptable to them. Harry recognised Micheal Corner, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin but the other two he did not. Luna had stayed with her father after the war, travelling and reporting for the Quibber which now received a significantly appraisable audience…

And of course, one Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry once again allowed himself to take in Malfoy's appearance. Back in his Hogwarts robes – although they were in good condition, they were not brand new as they usually would be at the start of each year, Harry noted absently – and with his face arranged into a carefully neutral expression, he looked a lot more like himself. Except that he didn't. Harry could tell, after spending a considerable amount of time watching him in sixth year, the small differences which gave Malfoy away. His shoulders slumped a little and his chin didn't lift with the same arrogance it once had. Despite his growing height he seemed small without his cronies flanking him – and, of course, his eyes, the grey eyes that Harry had become able to read so well. The eyes that seemed to say, only to Harry, 'I'm not ok'. Before he had time to dwell on the thought, Professor McGonagall was speaking once again.

"As you are undoubtedly all aware, returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year is an extremely rare circumstance. Occasionally, a student may wish to retake a N.E.W.T but they do so on a part-time basis, returning only for classes which they share with seventh years. However, we have decided that, given the circumstances, such action would not be appropriate. You will continue with the N.E.W.T classes you selected although your classes will be merged, rather than separated by house, so that all eighth year students taking a particular subject are together." McGonagall paused, as if watching the reaction of her words before she spoke again. "Additionally, house dormitories are not built to sleep an additional year group. In any case, I am sure I do not need to impress upon any of you your status amongst the other students given each of your contributions to the battle." Another pause as Harry tried determinedly not to look at Malfoy after her final words. "As a result, it has been decided to house you together, as a year group, in the East Tower. You will find the wings as usual; boys on the left, girls on the right. Each wing has four sleeping quarters, where we have arranged you by your houses." Of course this pause in McGonagall's speech came with a ripple of surprise as the students took in her words, Harry absently noticing that this didn't seem to surprise Malfoy in the slightest. "I trust, given the gravity of recent events, that I can trust you all to conduct yourself appropriately in your new arrangements. Good evening to you all and… Welcome back." With her closing words McGonagall offered a smile across the hall, before waving her wand toward the Great Hall doors, opening them in a signal that the students were free to leave.

Their first night in their new common room had been thankfully uneventful. Ernie Macmillan had been the first – and only – student to approach Harry as soon as they all entered the common room. Offering his hand, he'd said "First, I just wanted to say thanks. But I also wanted to say, I won't be treating you any differently. I mean, I'm sure you don't want us to, so…" He'd paused awkwardly, before offering a smile of such a genuine nature that could only be mustered by a true Hufflepuff and dropping Harry's hand, taking up an armchair by the fire. After that, the common room had broken into conversations, stilted and polite at first, but growing more genuine and friendly as the flames warming the room had slowly turned to ash. Yet one person had been noticeably absent. Slipping into bed that night Harry took the Marauders Map from his bedside table opening it with a familiar murmuring of words.

It hadn't taken long for him to find his target, on the top floor of the eighth year boys dorm's, slowly pacing his quarters. He watched the dot pace, for how long he wasn't sure, until sleep claimed him.

-o-

Harry continued through the motions of life at Hogwarts, blending in with the students around him, not letting on to way he was so numbly pacing through life. Things continued that way for some time. Classes started and the eighth years kept themselves to themselves, taking their own classes and choosing to study in their common room rather than the library. From conversations grew friendships and it became almost common place to see Hermione head-to-head with Terry Boot discussing the pros and cons of Bewitched Sleep Charms, and even more common place to see Ron appearing to casually read Quidditch Quartely while in reality glaring at Boot and grinding his teeth until Hermione ended her studying each night and came to join him by the fire. Harry would have found his jealousy amusing – Hermione obviously had about as much interest in Terry Boot as a Flobberworm, being as taken with Ron as she was – if he didn't have other things on his mind.

Of course, other things didn't mean his studies, or the fact the Quidditch pitch still wasn't repaired, or girls, or anything remotely normal for an eighteen year old boy. Other things meant Draco Malfoy.

He was barely ever seen, sitting in classes alone and only speaking if he was called upon, studiously making notes and listening as lessons bore on. Harry saw most of him in Potions. Relatively few students reached N.E.W.T level Potions as it was, and with the small number of students returning for an eighth year, there were only four of them in the class. Malfoy, who Harry had to admit, had always done well in Potions, excelled without distraction which – after a lesson where Malfoy brew a perfect Draught of Living Death – led Harry to curse his decision to ever save him from Azkaban. A thought, of course, he had quickly cursed himself for, for being such a pig-headed idiot. Then Harry had reminded himself it was a good job he was doing all of this cursing in his own head which had caused him to laugh out loud over his cauldron which was rapidly resembling swamp sludge, leading all his classmates to believe he had truly gone mental.

In all honesty, they probably weren't far from the truth. He really had to do something about his obsession with Malfoy. It was no longer called for, he told himself. He'd done everything he needed to do; saved his life, saved him from Azkaban and returned his wand. Merlin, that was more than any right minded person would do for an ex-Death Eater (no matter the circumstances) who they were supposed to hate.

But he couldn't help thinking how, in the rare times he saw Malfoy in class and at meals, how he still looked so… Lost. He never smiled when the house elves served pumpkin pie, a food Harry had learnt during his obsessive sixth year stalk- _necessary war observations_ \- that could cheer even Malfoy up in his worse moods. When he brew the perfect Draught of Living Death he hadn't sneered, hadn't arrogantly announced his skills, hadn't even smiled when he'd been awarded 25 house points. Most disturbingly of all, he hadn't commented on Harry's clearly insane laughter, a slip up which in previous years would have earnt him a cutting insult, most likely peppered with a nickname such as ' _Potty Potter'_.

He wasn't Malfoy.

He was lost.

Lost like Harry.

* * *

Get a grip, Malfoy. He found that his thoughts would often tell him this throughout the day, most often when he was sharing a class with Potter. Potions was the easiest place to do so; Draco was good at the subject and furthermore he enjoyed it. He could truly loose himself in the art of brewing a particularly potent poison or especially exceptional elixir and forget about everything else for at least the two hours they were in the dungeons. It was a shame that the difficulty of squeezing their new eighth year classes into the already overflowing Hogwarts timetables meant no more opportunities for double Potions. By far his worst subject was Advanced Arithmancy, which was truly annoying as it had once been his second favourite subject, the only other that could truly hold his interest as Potions could. But as the timetables merged with the decreased eighth year numbers it had meant that Arithmancy, once a safe balance of Ravenclaws and Slytherins was now home to the only two students returning to Hogwarts. Himself and Granger.

Merlin, it was a special kind of torture. A torture that Draco was certain The Dark Lord would have bottled and unleashed in the rages of battle if he had known it was possible for such pain to exist. It was one thing owing a debt to Potter – a thing that had driven Draco to distraction, constantly watching Harry from afar, across the Great Hall at breakfast, or from… Shaking his head, Draco refused to allow himself to think of Potter. Not to think of the concern he could see in his eyes whenever he looked at Draco. He wouldn't think of that. Not again. Potter didn't care and Draco would soon find a way to repay the life debt and break this – not bond, Merlin no – whatever it was between them. But first, he had other matters to address. Indeed, as he had countless times thought – it was one thing owing Potter, but an entirely other thing owing debt to _Granger_ a bloody Muggle-born. He was finding it hard enough presenting a personality which didn't sneer or mock her kind at every turn without having the added pressure of an owed debt. This was something he'd have to address and fast. The sooner he addressed it, the sooner he could get back to enjoying his second favourite class and the sooner he could figure out a way to repay Potter, break the hold he had and get through the rest of this year in peace.

It was just almost Halloween and the cold October air was just beginning to bite, a sign that winter would soon be upon them. It was almost Halloween and that was two whole months that Draco had not been able to enjoy his second favourite subject. Enough was enough, he told himself. He would not sit here, Draco Malfoy, and owe a debt to a Muggle-born. He was heading down the fifth floor corridor toward the class, steadfastly ignoring the whispers and stares which seemed to follow him without rest through the corridors. Maybe, if he got there quickly, he could grab Granger before it all started and he… Well, he didn't know what just yet, he'd figure that out, but he'd do it and he could go back to enjoying –

"Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy! Delighted to see your both early, we can crack on and hopefully solve the third trimester of the Warlock equation!"

Inwardly, Malfoy groaned at Professor Vector's cheer. No such luck on being early then he thought dejectedly as he settled into his seat and pulled out a roll of parchment, his quill and ink. If he were Potter, he thought, he would have sighed and flustered and slumped and sulked in his seat – which, of course, Malfoy certainly didn't think, because he didn't think about Potter and Malfoy's most certainly didn't _slump_. Neither did Malfoy's sulk. They knew what they wanted and using their natural Slytherin cunning they achieved their goals. So that was it, he would simply wait this lesson out and grab Granger on the way back to the eighth year common room. Potter and Weasley wouldn't be a problem, they had a free period whilst he and Hermione had Advanced Arithmancy; which was information anyone with half an active brain cell would know thanks to the eighth years close living quarters and their merged timetables. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"Mister Malfoy? Do you need a textbook?" Professor Vector asked, pulling Draco back to reality.

"No, no…" He muttered, snapping his attention back to the class and most definitely not thinking of Potter as he opened his book to the correct page.

The hour was long and mentally straining but it required little communication and a high amount of silent concentration, which Draco was thankful for. It barely seemed like any time had passed at all before the bell rung, signalling the end of classes. Startled by the sound Draco jumped, causing a big nasty spot of ink to pool across his page. Cursing himself for his lack of concentration, he pointed his wand toward the parchment and muttered ' _Evanesco_ '. The stain disappeared in an instant but the accident had given Granger time to pack away her books and was already heading for the door. Slamming the lid onto his inkwell he threw his notes and book in his bag, trying not to cringe at the mess they would no doubt be making of the neatly ordered items inside. He didn't hurry after her – because Malfoy's didn't hurry, certainly not after Muggle-borns – but he did sweep from the classroom with less of his usual grace and more speed.

"Granger!" He called after her at he reached the door, his voice calling her name clearly enough to startle the bushy-haired witch into turning around. "I – I er… Can I just borrow you a minute?" He asked, this wasn't ideal; the corridors were already starting to fill with students and this was not a conversation he wanted to be witnessed. Still, Granger said nothing, merely stared at him like he'd just admitted he was in love with a Blast-ended Skrewt. He nodded his head back toward the classroom door and disappeared back inside hoping she would follow.

To his relief it didn't take her long at all to follow, at least Granger could always be relied upon to be curious for any type of information. For a moment he simply stared, trying to figure out what to say. Giving gratitude didn't come easy to Draco; it wasn't a trait required often in Slytherin. Things were not done, favours were not given, secrets were not kept out of loyalty or friendship but out of an understanding that the deed would soon be returned. Unfortunately, Gryffindors were so down-right bloody noble that this would not be the case with Granger.

"Is there something you wanted, Malfoy?" She asked and Draco took in her features carefully. There was something different about the way she looked at him; her eyes had always, even at her most defiant, been somewhat tinged with fear when she spoke to him, but no longer. All he could see was the curiosity that had brought her back into the classroom and just a hint of sadness… For him? Bloody Merlin, he would not be pitied by a Muggle-born Gryffindor of all people! It was time to gather what he could find of his pride, thank her and get on with his life.

"I just… I saw you at my trial. I saw you and…" Malfoy paused for a beat, taking in the way her features quickly changed to surprise; she obviously thought she'd been well-hidden at the back of the public gallery. "I ought to say thank you. For coming," the silence rolled on between them, the curiosity in Granger's eyes slowly fading to allow more room for her sadness, pitying him. He didn't want to be pitied. Not by anyone and certainly not by _Granger_. At first the realisation filled him with anger then he realised, a chance to take her pity and use it to his advantage. In for a knut, in for a sickle, he told himself before asking - or rather, stating; "Well, Potter sent you, didn't he? Because of his testimony?" The pity in Granger's eyes was awful and Draco found himself knowing in that moment that he would gladly relive several of his Aunt Bellatrix's Crucio's than accept her sympathy.

"Harry – He – He wanted to be there… He -" Granger eventually spoke, her excuse as thin as parchment. I'm sure he did, Draco thought to himself bitterly as he swept from the room, cutting her words to silence. That was enough, he'd given his thanks, found out what he needed to know – that he was simply a pity case for the great Harry Potter, such a pity case that he couldn't even be bothered to show up in person to watch the trial he'd given evidence toward.

Well no longer. He'd said thanks to Granger and that would be it. He didn't owe Potter anything, he didn't ask for him to take out a 'save a Death Eater' pet project in the run up to his N.E.W.T's and he certainly didn't have to repay him for it. Now it was over, he told himself, and he could focus on his studies and stop spending almost every damn moment thinking about Potter.

Before he knew it he had arrived at the top of the cool, grey stairs in the circular stone room at the top West Tower, listening to the soft hoots around him and taking a soft, shaky breath, feeling free.

* * *

"He what?!" Ron spluttered in disbelief, causing several of the common rooms residents to look over to the spot where the trio were gathered before the fire. Shushing him with a single look, Hermione waited until the students around them returned their attention to their own conversations.

"Calm down Ronald, it's not as if he tortured me. He was nice. He said thank you." Hermione repeated, faint surprise still etched on his features.

"Nice? Malfoy isn't nice Hermione. Yeah, ok – he might not have been evil and he certainly wasn't as dark as the rest of them, but he's still a git. Doesn't do nice. What do you think he wants?" Ron ranted, turning his final question to Harry.

"I – er…" Harry floundered for a moment. Not two minutes ago he and Ron had been spending their free period in front of the fire and Harry had been studying a particularly complicated potion during their free period wishing that anything would come along and rescue him from it. Now he recalled the popular muggle phrase 'be careful what you wish for'. "What did he say, exactly, Hermione?"

"He said he'd seen me, at the trial. He said he ought to thank me. Then he…" Hermione paused and pulled a pained face, the one she always wore when she delivered bad news. "He asked if you sent me. I'm sorry Harry, I didn't know what to say…"

"What did you say?"

"I said… I said you wanted to be there and he… He just stormed off." Hermione grimaced at the memory, a frown settling across her brow "He just – he looked so sad…"

"He's looked like that since the trial," Harry nodded glumly, a frown mirroring Hermione's "He's changed, not arrogant, doesn't draw attention to himself…"

"What is this, a lets feel sorry for an ex-Death Eater day?" Ron spluttered in disbelief, his eyes as wide as saucers. "I get it mate, he's not evil, I agree. So you saved his sorry arse from Azkaban and that's fine, I get it. But he bloody well deserves to pay for it, being miserable is getting off lightly if you ask me."

"He's more than miserable Ron, he's not even the same person." Harry muttered, sitting back in his chair and gazing into the flames, remembering with a flash the Room of Requirement, the way Malfoy's features had been full of completely unguarded fear. Turning back to see his best friend still clearly unconvinced, he sighed. "Look, Ron – I'm not complaining about some things. Yeah, it is great not to get called Scarhead or Potty or to be pulled into stupid fights and it is great that he's not such an arrogant git. But I didn't save his life so he could just mope around and waste it."

Ron looked as if he was about to challenge Harry again before Hermione placed a gentle hand on his forearm. At her touch he opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, looking a little like a cursed flobberworm before sighing, slumping back into his seat and resting his head on Hermione's shoulder. She stroked his arm softly before looking up, giving Harry a knowing, gentle smile. Despite his inner turmoil at the Malfoy news, Harry found himself returning the smile. Hermione was definitely a good influence on Ron he thought to himself, not for the first time.

-ooooo-

A week passed and nothing more happened. October gave way to November and Harry watched Malfoy avidly, beginning to border back into his sixth year obsession. Ron, calmed by Hermione, wisely said nothing as Harry spent many nights with the Marauders Map open before him, watching Malfoy in one of two places – pacing the floor of his quarters or in the owlery. Strange, at first, Harry had thought but then remembered; most of the Malfoy possessions had been taken as part of Narcissa's war reparations and would now likely rely on school owls to write to his mother. Harry reasoned it was also probably better for Malfoy to have an inconspicuous owl to deliver his mail rather than the large, proud Eagle owl they had previously owned, although the Ministry probably intercepted all of their communications anyway.

Harry had, for a long time, no longer tortured himself with the reasons behind his Malfoy watching. His previous realisation – that Draco was as lost as Harry was – had softened his nerves about the obsession. It was natural, he supposed, to cling to the one person he could see who seemed to be feeling as he did. If he could just spot something, anything to change how Malfoy was, if he could try and… Help in some way, then things would be better. If he could save Malfoy, surely he could save himself?

It was a particularly rainy day which had driven most students to the common room in their tower. Most were studying although there were soft splatters of conversation across the room and Ernie and his Hufflepuff companion who Harry know knew to be called Matthew were enjoying a game of wizard chess. Funny, Harry thought absently over the top of his potions text, wizard chess didn't seem like a typically Hufflepuff game, a little too.. What had Hermione called it in their first year? Barbaric.

"Hey guys! Guys!" An excited voice carried from through the portrait hole before the speaker – a borderline giddy Dean jumped out. "I just saw McGonagall, the Quidditch pitch is back! Houses haven't sorted their teams yet, obviously, and we can't really be in them since were here, so…" Dean blathered on, his excitement clearly overtaking his ability to get to the point "So she said we can go on first, now and have our own game!"

There was a clatter of excitement which spread through the room and a few excited whoops as most of the common room gathered into a circle in the centre of the room. Hermione simply rolled her eyes but smiled affectionately, bedding herself down deeper in the now completely free sofa and turning her attention back to her book. Neville appeared as if he hadn't heard at all, completely transfixed by the strangest looking creature Harry had ever seen in a glass tank he kept by the window.

"So, if we've got Macmillian, Dean, Brocklehurst and Turpin, that's four chasers, not your usual three but we can cope with smaller numbers… We'll have a boy and a girl on each team, so's to make it fair.." Ron who was in his element organising the game failed to register the scowl on Mandy and Lisa's faces as he said this which made Harry wonder for a moment how he'd ever managed to charm Hermione. "Then, I'll keep for a team and… Corner, you can keep can't you? So that's two keepers. Obviously Harry's a seeker… If we just have you two as beaters, Boot and Matthew… One a team instead of two we can cope with for a smaller game… Then we just need another seeker…"

Just then, the portrait hole opened and Malfoy stepped through. He did a double take as he glanced around the visible excitement in the common room but said nothing, sweeping through and past the group and toward the staircase. As if struck by a sudden charm from somewhere Harry leapt into action.

"Harry?" Ron called after his as he withdrew from the group.

"You want a seeker, don't you?" He called back over his shoulder, registering the nod of approval he gained from Hermione as he swept toward the stairs, summoning some of his Gryffindor courage.

"Quidditch pitch is back." Harry shouted after Malfoy's retreating back as he reached the foot of the spiral staircase. Mid step Malfoy paused and turned back to face Harry.

"And?" He asked, arranging his features into the perfectly neutral expression Harry saw so frequently these days.

"We want a game and we need another seeker." He told him, returning his gaze levelly.

Malfoy simply stared at Harry for a long, hard moment. A moment that seemed to stretch into eternity as grey eyes bore into green. Despite the guards that both boys held, feelings flashed in between them – their lost souls reaching out to each other, something in Malfoy's eyes was saying –

Suddenly Malfoy broke the connection and he turned again, sweeping up the staircase.

Watching him go Harry sighed before returning to the group and shrugging. Lost in conversation of how to solve their problem, their group didn't notice the pale figure stalking across the room toward them, broom in hand.

"Heard you needed another seeker," Malfoy announced as he approached, jutting his chin up as he spoke. It wasn't an act of arrogance at it would have been before, Harry noted, but a way of building himself up, bringing up his guard.

Ernie Macmillan was the first to break the silence that befell the group. "Excellent, we do. Let's go then, before this rain gets too bad to play in." The rest of the group seemed to accept Ernie's lead and headed toward the portrait hole, Harry carefully placing himself toward the back of the group.

"Typical bloody Hufflepuff" he heard Malfoy mutter as they reached the exit and despite himself, Harry smiled.


	6. A Time for Many Things

As ever - thank you to my wonderful reviewers! LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624, PuppetPrince, SherlocksScard17, TazzieLuv13, Ava-Potter gal.

I've been especially happy to see some new reviewers/readers popping up - it's lovely to have you!

In fact, I was so happy with the response to the last chapter, I've decided to upload the next already! So if there's lots of mistakes I can only apologise, I proof read very quickly to get this chapter out to you. :)

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 **A Time For Many Things**

It had been over a month since the quidditch game. The game had been followed by another each weekend when McGonagall agreed, much to everyone's delight, that the eighth years were to be allowed a bookable slot on the pitch each weekend in between the times when the different house teams trained. Harry was warmed by the way such a simple game could bring everyone together, giving them a way to find enjoyment in life again after the horrors of the war. Yes, Harry was warmed, but not entirely stupid; as enjoyable as quidditch was, it far from solved the problem of Malfoy's distance from the rest of the group. Anyone who thought that it would do had obviously taken a bludger to the head during one of their games; the distance between him and the rest of the eighth years remained a deep void which Harry sometimes thought would never be filled.

Their games continued, Malfoy sometimes joining them yet often not. Harry almost found himself living for the days when Malfoy did show up to a game. When he watched him in the air his guard was down; the wind flew through his hair and whipped at his cheeks, flushing them with the exertion of the game, his grey eyes were sharp and alert, taking in the strategy of the game. The lost soul behind the eyes was always forgotten with the thrill of the game, he looked almost –

Harry stopped his thoughts right there. He may have begun to accept (okay, rather, begun to sort of strangely _enjoy_ ) his avid interest in Malfoy since the moment on the staircase when Harry had asked him to join them – but he certainly wouldn't start to spend too long thinking about how Malfoy looked on his broom. Even if he did –

"Harry?" A voice jolted him from his thoughts and almost made him jump out of his skin. "Sorry, you were miles away." The voice instantly apologised and Harry did not need to look up to recognise Hermione settling beside him.

"Yeah, er- sorry, I was…" Harry trailed off looking down to the textbook in his lap; which actually had the Marauder's Map carefully folded under one of its pages. Last time Harry had checked – admittedly, not to long ago – the dot labelled 'Draco Malfoy' was in the library sharing a table with the dot labelled 'Terry Boot'. They weren't sat closely, but the library was – as usual on a Tuesday afternoon, with everyone in class whilst the eighth years followed increasingly strange timetables to fit their classes in – empty enough to have allowed either to sit elsewhere. This arrangement wasn't a surprise; despite not providing a miracle cure for Malfoy's isolation, his sporadic appearances at the weekly game had begun to build some tentative bridges. Most of the Ravenclaw's were beginning to speak to Malfoy again and, after a short period of hesitation, Malfoy had appeared to slip back into his old Slytherin alliance with the students. Although changed by the war, as everyone was, those in Ravenclaw never forgot their thirst and quest for knowledge (especially with N.E. approaching) and it would be hard for anyone to deny Malfoy's flair for potions. Given this it appeared, for the Ravenclaw's at least, that spending time with Malfoy to study was acceptable. However, the Hufflepuffs, and the rest of the Gryffindors, whilst accepting of him on the quidditch pitch to make up their numbers were not as accepting outside of the game. Harry huffed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. If they could just see that Malfoy wasn't the same, that he wasn't… _bad_ , then he could join them in the common room, he could stop looking so lost behind his careful façade of calm cool, things could be normal.

But what was normal?

Would it be normal to see Malfoy, a Slytherin, reformed and forgiven Death Eater, joining in a game of Exploding Snap with a group of Hufflepuffs? That certainly wouldn't be normal. Harry doubted that normal even existed. There had been a war, lives had been lost, those left behind had all changed… It would take time for the dust to settle, for wounds to heal, for people like Harry to stop existing and start living before things could be described as normal.

"You've been watching him again, haven't you?" Hermione asked, although her tone suggested she already knew the answer. She shook her head somewhat pityingly as Harry caught her gaze, instantly making him flush a guilty red. "I'm not going to say anything to you Harry, I just think – you've done what you can for him. He's got to figure out if his life is worth living for himself. You need to start thinking about living your life."

Harry mulled over his reply. He could say that he hadn't possibly done everything he could – that he could try harder to include Malfoy, to cheer him up. He could say that Malfoy probably didn't have a clue about if his life was worth living or not. He could even say that he felt the same way. He could admit it, tell Hermione that his obsession was actually feeding from a deep _understanding_ of Malfoy – the moment they had shared on the staircase over a month ago still bore in Harry's memory. They understood each other. Both lost in a way that no one else could quite comprehend. No words had been needed to tell Harry this, the fleeting connection between their eyes before Malfoy had turned away had been all he needed to figure it out. It was strange, Harry didn't know if the idea of Malfoy understanding him terrified, thrilled or disgusted him. Perhaps a little of all three.

Of course, he couldn't actually tell Hermione any of those things. Not when he'd only just considered them himself.

"There's a Hogsmeade visit this weekend, it was just announced. The first of the year now people feel a bit safer, so students can go and get Christmas presents." Hermione continued, clearly on a mission to think about living Harry's life for him. "Come with me and Ron, we'll invite Ginny too, it'll be good for you."

Harry didn't need to mull over his reply for that one. Inviting Ginny certainly would not be good for him. He didn't dislike her by any means and it wasn't as if they didn't speak – but they spoke only in the safety of the Gryffindor table, of the other students and their friends. Going with Ron and Hermione would be… Too much of a date. It would be awkward, raise expectations about things that were not to be expected….

"I don't know if that's a good idea." Harry muttered, throwing the textbook before him closed. Truth be told he hadn't been really reading it before Hermione showed up, anyway.

"We'll invite the others, too." Hermione quickly amended, determined not to let Harry slip away. "Neville, Seamus… Whoever. We could all go down together. Make a day of it. You'll enjoy it."

Resigning himself early, knowing that he would not hear the last of this from Hermione – and that she'd soon get Ron involved if he protested – Harry nodded, agreeing to the visit. His agreement made Hermione's face light up with happiness and Harry found himself smiling too. He might not be – as Hermione had noticed – living his life to the fullest right now, but at least he could still try and keep his friends happy.

"I know… I'm not trying to push you, Harry. I know it's hard. I know you gave up so much more than everyone else…" She swallowed uncomfortably, placing a gentle hand on his arm "But I know you. I know you're not happy. Other people might not have noticed but… I'm worried about you. You spend all your time obsessing over Malfoy, you need to think about rebuilding your own life, not other peoples." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as she finished, clearly apprehensive about the words that had left her lips.

"I'm trying, Hermione." Harry replied, and it was true. What his friend didn't know, however, that it was his obsessing over Malfoy that was helping him rebuild his own life. Each time Malfoy joined a quidditch game, each time Harry saw a little more joy and a little less loss in those grey eyes, the more alive he felt himself. It was strange, but Harry had a feeling he couldn't shake that if Malfoy found his way then Harry could too… If he could just find a way to make Malfoy happy… Make his eyes shine as brightly, make his body look as alive as it did when they played quidditch…

With that, Ron entered the common room with a string of curse words regarding a detention he'd managed to get himself – for what, Harry hadn't quite noticed as he focused more on the relief washing over him that, at least for now, the uncomfortable feelings Hermione had just unwittingly forced him to face could be forgotten.

 **-o-**

December swept into the castle, icy and cold but with a glimmer of Christmas cheer. The Hogsmeade visit had cheered most students no end and the prospect of soon returning home to visit family and friends had swept the students of the castle into an almost permanent cheering charm. It was the final week of classes and there was a smile on the face of every student in the school.

Well, except for one.

Harry would check his map frequently, often finding Malfoy hard to locate within the castle walls which made him feel uncomfortable. When he could find Malfoy, he was often up in the Owlery. Given the time of year coupled with the fact Malfoy was – as part of his probation – contained to Hogwarts for the entire year, it was likely Malfoy was writing to his mother more often. Of course, Malfoy wouldn't be returning to his family – what was left of it – this Christmas.

"So mum says she wants us at the Burrow on Christmas, Hermione wants to see her folks but we'll visit over there later" Ron explained to Harry who had only been half listening to his rattle about the upcoming festivities "She needs us more, Hermione knows that. It's the first Christmas… Without… Well yeah, so we said we'd go over to hers for the last week of the holidays, but you'll be fine mate, everyone'll still be at ours so…"

"I'm not coming," Harry blurted out; unaware he had even made the decision before he said it out loud.

Ron simply stared at him for a moment, as if struggling to understand what he'd just said "What?"

"I'm going to stay here, at Hogwarts." Harry clarified although that much was obvious. He cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, meeting Ron's gaze. "I want you and Hermione to enjoy your Christmas… All of your family to enjoy Christmas."

"You know your family too, mate." Ron pointed out in a tone that suggested he felt that delivering this fact was like he was pointing out that Voldemort was dangerous.

"I know, I appreciate it, you know I do. But you and Hermione deserve some time on your own, and with Ginny, well, you know, it's awkward…" Harry trailed off, shrugging in a way which apologised for the pathetic nature of his excuses; not that they were excuses, they were both valid reasons. Ron and Hermione did deserve some time alone – Harry didn't fancy playing third wheel for two weeks - and it would be awkward with Ginny. Yes, the Weasley's would all be home close to Christmas, but George had the shop to run, Bill had his life with Fleur, Charlie had returned to Romania… The long stretch of the two weeks, including a week without Ron or Hermione, would undoubtedly be beyond uncomfortable for himself and Ginny. That was reason enough, he justified, without having to accept the larger, more persistent reason for his desire to stay behind at Hogwarts…

"Okay mate, I get it." Ron sighed "Mum'll go spare, if she asks I tried a lot harder than this to convince you." He warned before breaking into a grin and clapping Harry on the back in a friendly gesture. Harry smiled himself, glad the tension of the moment had lifted with little difficulty. He was about to respond when Malfoy, standing tall with his usual guards drawn across his face, entered the common room and swept across the floor up the staircase. Harry was unaware he was still staring at the empty bottom step until Ron's voice brought him back to the present moment.

"You be careful with him, staying here." Ron warned, nodding after the foot of the stairs where Malfoy had just been.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat confused, careful? With Malfoy? What did Ron think he knew – had Hermione picked something up in their conversation a few weeks ago? Before his thoughts could splutter elsewhere, his best friend spoke again.

"I'm not saying he's evil. Mate, I don't like the git – never will - but I agree with you, he's not a dark wizard. But I've seen him. Staring at you. It's creepy…" Ron trailed off with a shudder and Harry's features went slack with surprise. Malfoy, staring at him? How? When? Surely Harry would have noticed – he spent enough time obsessing over Malfoy, surely he'd catch him out if he was doing the same?

"He stares at me?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron nodded, mistaking Harry's surprise for horror. "I dunno, maybe he thinks he owes you. He thanked Hermione, didn't he, 'cause he thought it was her at his trial. Maybe he thinks he's got another life debt, what with you saving his arse from Azkaban and everything."

Harry was hardly listening as Ron prattled on about life debts being a serious matter for pureblood wizards and how Harry should watch out for Malfoy over the holidays. He tuned Ron's voice out to the point where he would be aware if he stopped speaking, but could focus more on his own thoughts. Malfoy, staring at him. So maybe he had felt… whatever it was Harry had felt… that day on the staircase too? Harry shook his head. He hated to admit it, but Ron was probably right. As strange as the feelings that Harry were battling with were, he was certain Malfoy wouldn't be thinking anything of the same. Harry was imagining things, they didn't understand each other – okay, maybe Harry understood Malfoy, he could recognise the despair, the lost hope in his grey eyes – but Malfoy wouldn't waste any thoughts on him.

"I will, Ron, yeah." Harry muttered with what he hoped appeared to be a grateful nod as he sensed Ron had come to the end of his monologue. It must have fit well as the redhead nodded back in response, sitting back on the sofa and flicking open a copy of 'Quidditch Quarterly'.

"Better make the most of this while it lasts, Hermione'll have her colour coded revision timetables ready for both of us when we come back after Christmas." He said, his tone was grim with the thought but he wore a slight smile – clearly Hermione's overbearing need to organise the boys N.E.W.T study schedules had been transformed from annoying to endearing in Ron's mind.

"Tell me about it." Harry replied, giving a chuckle as he returned to his own book and flipped the page, watching the familiar dot labelled 'Draco Malfoy' lying on his bed in the upmost eighth year chamber.

 **-o-**

It was the last lesson before Christmas break – Transfiguration - and Malfoy was absent. Although he often missed lessons, he always turned up to Potions, Hermione had told him he never missed Arithmancy and he was always in attendance for Professor McGonagall's lessons. Although as Head of Hogwarts her Transfiguration classes had been taken up by another professor she taught the eighth year group as fitting their classes in around the rest of the students was proving difficult. Harry wondered if he was running late, then almost laughed to himself at the thought. He may not have been brought up with the right morals, but Malfoy had been raised to be ever aware of the importance of tardiness and was never late – unless for effect, when he would stroll into Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons halfway through, a cocky eyebrow raised as if challenging him to punish him. Harry shook the thought away, that wasn't Malfoy anymore. He'd changed.

"As I am sure you are all undoubtedly all too aware when you return from Christmas break your N.E.W.T's will be drawing ever closer. With the difficulty of your timetables were are significantly behind on our Transfiguration syllabus. Today we begin the study of Animagus – if you do not know what an Animagus is, please leave my classroom now." McGonagall's gaze travelled the room slowly, her thinly pressed lips smiling as no one moved. "Indeed, becoming an Animagus will not be a N.E.W.T expectation, merely a sound knowledge of the written exam. It requires a very high level of magical competence and a very _real_ desire to take animal form. All these things, and more, you will learn over the holidays. I expect 2 rolls of parchment detailing the conditions, mastery and magic of Animagus after the holidays." Despite the groan which swept the classroom – two rolls of parchment at Christmas! - McGonagall pressed on. As she continued Harry gazed to the empty space which Malfoy would usually occupy. He never missed McGonagall's lessons, she had offered him sanctuary and he respected her. So where was he? He let McGonagall's voice wash over him for the rest of the lesson, picking up bits here at there…

" _The witch or wizard has no control over his form… His Animagus form will be somewhat of a 'spirt animal', taking the form of which connects most with the witch or wizards personality, with their needs…"_

" _Despite this, the animal will display some traits, such as colouring, which are the same as its human form…"_

" _The magic surrounding Animagus is extremely advanced – well beyond N.E.W.T level competency – only a minor percentage of witches and wizards accomplish it…"_

" _Usually, the first change will be mastered after a great emotional upheaval, although each consecutive change after that will become second nature to the witch or wizard who masters the art…."_

The bell rung loudly and a chorus of cheers escaped the room. McGonagall, who would normally be stern at such a display, instead smiled fondly at the students before her.

"Enjoy your holidays," She said, closing the textbook on her desk as she sunk into her seat "But not too much – there will be no excuse from the 2 rolls on Animgaus study. We will not have time to visit this topic again and you must be prepared for its potential appearance on the examination."

Most of the class were only half listening to her words, hurriedly packing away their quills, books and notes with the anticipation of collecting their belongings and heading home.

"Mister Potter, a word?" McGonagall asked from her desk at the front and Harry looked up, nodding in her direction.

"Mate, the express leaves in half an hour – with us being off timetable were behind everyone else – we'll have to get going," Ron said, pulling Harry back before he went to McGonagall.

"Of course, go, have a good Christmas." Harry said, giving Ron a brief, manly 'back slap' hug before Hermione pulled him into a much bigger one.

"You too, Harry. Write to us, won't you? Look after yourself. Try to… Try to enjoy yourself. Remember what I said… You need to live your life." She whispered into his hair as she hugged him and all Harry could do was nod in response. Releasing her, he gave Ron and Hermione a final wave before heading up to McGonagall's desk.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I heard you're staying with us for Christmas, Mister Potter." McGonagall began, flicking her wand to summon a chair from across the room to sit beside her desk, gesturing for Harry to sit.

"Yeah, er… I am?" Harry asked, wondering why this was a cause for concern.

"You are probably aware that you and Mister Malfoy are the only two eighth years who are remaining with us. In fact, you are two of the few in the school. Record low numbers staying behind, after the war, people want to be with their families…" She trailed off, a sad, wistful expression tugging at her features, no doubt recalling those they had both lost. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I have noticed, Mister Potter, that you appear to have taken an… Interest, in Mister Malfoy recently."

Harry's cheeks coloured at McGonagall's words and he didn't know why. Just what was she implying? Sure, Harry had felt a lot of things. He'd felt like he needed to save Malfoy, like they were both lost, like saving Malfoy would save him, like they understood each other… But there was something about the tone of McGonagall's voice, something that implied…

"I mean my comments to have no implications." She said as if reading Harry's mind. "I simply wished to thank you – Mister Malfoy may never have been my favourite student, but he was a young boy who was seriously misled, misunderstood and horrendously mistreated. He regrets his actions from the war deeply. He must find a way to forgive himself. He must find a way to forget the past, move from mere existence to life." She paused, carefully placing her gaze to Harry, her eyes boring into his, the look so intense it made Harry want to squirm. "I feel that you, also, must find a way to do this. You were raised so young to believe your destiny was to defeat Voldemort. You too were a young boy, misled, misunderstood and – yes – mistreated. You provided a great service to wizard kind, but that weight should never have been placed on your young shoulders."

Harry swallowed thickly as McGonagall paused. He had never seriously – only in anger – questioned what had been billed as his destiny. He had accepted his life, accepted his duty, accepted what was expected and he had provided it. So had Malfoy. Two boys, two different sides of the war. Both lost, both trying to figure out what life held for them now.

McGonagall nodded as if she was watching the gears in Harry's mind turn with her words. "I felt that my purpose here today would be to point out to you that you and Mister Malfoy were more alike than you thought, however, I see you appear to have reached that conclusion yourself."

Harry looked down. He had, that day a couple of months ago, when they had shared the moment on the stairs. He had brushed it away since his conversation with Ron, convincing himself that not only did Malfoy not feel the connection, but Harry had imagined the whole things too, but with McGonagall's words, it all came flooding back.

"Christmas is a time for many things, Mister Potter. I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of when witches and wizards seem by one consent to open their closed hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave." Harry rose his eyes back to McGonagall's as she spoke, her words beautifully raw and meaningful. "I feel this message, particularly its final words, is one Mister Malfoy must be taught to believe; not in the way he may have needed to in years gone by, but in seeing himself as higher than his fellow students, but now in seeing himself as not beneath, but an equal to us."

"Why… You could tell himself, Professor… I mean…" Harry muttered awkwardly, trying to avoid the thick, heavy feeling lining his stomach at her words.

"Believe me, Harry, I have done so. Not in so many words, but I have tried. I feel, somehow, that you may have more success than me." Her eyes twinkled in a most un-McGonagall like way as she spoke and she rose to her feet. "Goodbye, and good luck."

With that she left the classroom, leaving Harry numb under the weight of the words she'd spoken. He had no idea how long he sat there, it was dark outside, he noted, but that early darkness was expected at this time of year. The fog of his thoughts didn't leave him as he trailed back through the school, returning to the tower where the eighth year dorms were. A faint rumble in his stomach told him he must have missed dinner, he vaguely thought about raiding the stash of Chocolate Frog's he knew Ron kept under his bed before a sight stopped him in his tracks.

Malfoy, curled up in the arm chair in front of the fire with a book in his lap. He would have looked peaceful if the sound of the portrait hole door closing behind Harry had not jolted him from his reading.

"Potter" He said, somewhat startled, closing the book before him – _Advanced Artihmancy Aide_ – and unfolding his legs to stand "I didn't think you'd – I thought you'd gone with Weasley and Granger."

"No, I'm staying for Christmas." Harry replied, taking in with alarm the way Malfoy rose from his seat. This was the first step, he knew it, don't mess it up now. "Don't go – I mean no point – er… The common rooms plenty big enough for both of us." He shrugged, cursing inwardly at his monumentally awkward mess up. Why did he have to mumble like an idiot?

Eyeing him carefully, Malfoy nodded and sank back into his chair. Harry held back a sigh of relief and sank into a chair – not the one opposite Malfoy, but not too far away. The pair lapsed into a silence, an uncomfortable tension prickling the air. After a few moments passed there was an audible crack and a house elf appeared beside him. "Mister Potter, sir, Professor McGonagall noticed you did not attend the feast, sir, and she asked me to bring you some food." With a flourish the house elf whipped a cloth from a tray he was holding and presented an entire pumpkin pie and a goblet of juice. He placed it down on the table before him and bowed before disappearing with another crack. Harry felt a tug in his heart for Dobby as he watched after where the house elf had gone, Dobby wouldn't have had to have been told Harry hadn't eaten to bring him a plate bursting with food…

Now was not the time to dwell on upsetting memories, Harry's stomach told him as it rumbled at the sight before him. He took a slice of the pie and pulled it towards him, digging in. As he did so he caught Malfoy's gaze watching him over the top of his book. A brainwave hit him – pumpkin pie, Malfoy's favourite.

"Want some?" Harry asked, nodding toward the pie. Malfoy looked at him sceptically, considering for a moment before apparently deciding the pie, brought by a house elf not moments ago, couldn't be poisoned. He nodded in thanks, flicking his wand toward an old copy of The Prophet and transfiguring it into a fine china plate to load a slice of pie onto.

"Impressive." Harry commented and Malfoy nodded, once again without the usual arrogant air he would have once taken at such a complement – not that Harry would have given him such a complement. Silence stretched between them as they ate and Harry couldn't help but say "You weren't there today. Transfiguration."

Malfoy looked off guard for a moment, his eyes giving away something Harry couldn't quite figure out before he shrugged, his expression once again neutral. "Wasn't feeling well" he responded. _You look fine enough now_ , Harry almost said as he watched Malfoy dig into the pie once more but he bit his lip, holding back the comment. Don't push it, he told himself. They returned to their food plates which were cleared once empty and Malfoy returned to his book. Harry spent a moment watching him before pulling out his Transfiguration textbook, opening it on the chapter on Animagus. Two rolls of parchment to figure out, he may as well start now…

The pair sat, reading together for hours and the fire in the grate had died to ash as Harry looked up from the chapter he was only halfway through, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he looked up. Malfoy, book forgotten, lay sprawled out with his legs over the arm of his chair, fast asleep. His sleep, however, looked anything but peaceful. His brow was furrowed and his arm twitched as he moved in his sleep. It was clear he was having a nightmare. Harry watched for a while, wondering what visited Malfoy in his nightmares. He was sure he had many to choose from, shuddering as he recalled some of the things he'd said during his trial. Harry couldn't help but wonder if they shared some nightmares, if the fire in the Room of Requirement haunted Malfoy as it did Harry.

He watched until Malfoy's furrowed brow relaxed and he let out a long, drawn-out snore and rolled over, face buried into the back of the chair. With nothing more to see Harry rose to his feet and retired to his bed.

With a final look over his shoulder at the figure he'd left sleeping, he seriously considered finding the house elf who'd thought to bring pumpkin pie of all dishes and buying them a Christmas present.

That night his dreams began as they often did. Malfoy close to burning in the fast licking flames, Harry on a broom throwing down a hand to save him – but then their hands clasped and he pulled Malfoy onto his broom, his arms looping around Harry's waist as he slipped behind him and the rose from the flames, higher and higher as if the ceiling didn't exist, flying together, far away into the darkness.

* * *

Note: McGonagall's words about Christmas aren't mine at all, they're a slightly edited version of a Charles Dickens quote about Christmas that I love. :)


	7. A Bit Unhealthy

First - apologies! I intended to update over the weekend but I've just been crazy busy, hopefully the 2 chapters last week made up for the wait for this one!

As always - thank you to my wonderful reviewers! LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624, TazzieLuv13 and Liz.

Enjoy this next chapter.. It carries a warning.. M rating starts creeping in here on out. ;)

Note - as is obvious, none of the characters etc are mine - however I did use a quote JK made about George/Angelina within this chapter, because I love it!

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 **A Bit Unhealthy**

The first four days of the holiday passed in the same way. With no classes to attend both boys stayed in the common room, Harry flicking between the Christmas copy of 'Quidditch Quarterly' and his holiday reading. Malfoy seemed to do nothing but read his school textbooks. Odd, Harry had thought, Malfoy had never struck him as particularly studious, but that wouldn't be the strangest change he'd noted. Words were few and far between but the silences they shared were far from strained as they sat together from day to night. They attended meals together, a non-spoken agreement between the pair meaning they left the common room together each time a feast was served. The first time they'd gone down Harry had noticed that, indeed, McGonagall was right. Harry had stayed for Christmas before and knew most students opted to return home, yet this year the numbers were smaller than ever. In response, McGonagall had transfigured the four house tables into one, smaller table which ran parallel with the teachers table with just enough seats to house each student who had stayed behind. Through the lack of options Harry and Malfoy sat together and their proximity slowly faded through into the common room with Harry now taking the chair opposite Malfoy.

Christmas morning dawned, early and bright, as Harry awoke to a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. He grinned widely, caught up in the spirt of Christmas as he threw back the covers and dived toward his pile.

"Fuck!" He winced as he leapt out of the sheets – the house elves must have forgotten to light the fire in his bedroom. With most students home for the holidays they could be forgiven for loosing track of which fires to light, but Merlin it was freezing. He grabbed his school bag from under his bed, tipped the contents out and scooped his haul inside. The common room would undoubtedly have a roaring fire to warm by as he opened his gifts. Taking the stairs two at a time Harry bound down, stopping in his tracks as he reached the last step.

Malfoy. Of course.

The blonde was in his usual place by the fire, his back to Harry. Harry frantically grasped at his thoughts; Malfoy's mother had no money left to send him presents, his friends were dead, in Azkaban or had long since disappeared… In previous years Harry was sure he would have awoken to piles of neatly wrapped silver and green boxes filled with the finest money could buy. Now Harry doubted he would get anything. Memories of Christmas with the Dursley's flashed before Harry's eyes, himself as a much younger child watching Dudley open piles of glittering gifts as Harry watched on… He didn't wish to repeat the scene, even from the other side. He hopped from foot to foot, the stone cold under his bare feet. In his rush to open his gifts by the fire he was only in his night clothes, snitch printed shorts and a t-shirt. He suddenly felt very exposed. He'd go upstairs, cast a warming charm, dress and open his presents before returning.

"You'll catch a cold if you stand there all day, Potter." Malfoy drawled from his seat and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Surely he hadn't been that loud coming down the stairs? Still, nothing he could do about it now. " _Accio robe_ " he whispered, sighing with relief as his red and gold Gryffindor dressing gown flew down the stairs and landed at his feet. He hastily wrapped himself up, thankful for the cover it gave him. As he approached Malfoy, fully dressed in a dark green sweater and black trousers, he felt exposed even with the robe.

"Merry Christmas," He greeted Malfoy with only a slight air of awkwardness as he sat in his usual chair opposite him. Malfoy nodded in response, looking at Harry only briefly before returning to his book. Harry took a moment to take in the scene before him – the book wasn't one of Malfoy's usual school text books but a thick, leather bound tomb with fine gold scripture. On the table before him were two rolls of parchment and a box of what appeared to be very fine Belgian chocolates, brown paper wrapping discarded at his feet. Harry felt relief sag the tension he wasn't aware his shoulders had been holding. Malfoy had received something, at least, so he didn't feel so guilty as he opened up his bag and worked his way through his haul; as usual, a jumper from Mrs Weasley, a stash of chocolate frogs and other honeydukes favourites from Ron, and even more expected a book from Hermione neatly titled ' _N.E.W.T's – Never Evade Working Toward Success_!' A quick flick through the pages offered him hints and tips on how to get the most from his studying, how to best file his notes and a selection of blank revision timetables which could be magically altered. Very Hermione. Tossing the book onto the table between him and Malfoy, he rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile. A few more gifts gave Harry a typical Christmas selection of chocolate, butter beer and joke gifts. The final gift he pulled as wrapped with a scroll attached. Interest gained Harry unstuck it from the present, letting the gift lay forgotten in his lap as he unrolled the page.

 _Harry,_

 _Merry Christmas, mate. I'm writing because it's Christmas, and well… Christmas is a soppy time for the bloody lot of us. Ronniekins said you weren't coming back to The Burrow so I figured I'd write. I just wanted to say thanks, really. I know it wasn't your intention, but helping you out with that potion really gave me the kick I needed to start living again, y'know? Fred would have wanted it. I've got the shop back on track – we're doing really well – and well… I've started seeing someone. I don't know what to make of it, I don't know what Fred would think, either. But I like her, she likes me. We can… I think we could be happy, y'know? I don't know why I'm telling you this; I suppose I've got no one left to tell… Bloody depressing sod, aren't I? It's Angelina, the girl I'm seeing. She came to talk about Fred, then she kept coming to the shop and well… It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other. On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…_

 _After reading this far, I think you'll probably need to open my present,_

 _George_

Harry let the words wash over him. George and Angelina, Fred's ex-girlfriend, dating… Surely that wasn't exactly healthy? ' _It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other.'_ The words swum before Harry's eyes, leaving him feeling uncomfortable as he recognised the gravity of George's words. He was talking about a lover with the same words Harry had begun to attach to Malfoy…

To distract him from the thought he ripped open the paper to reveal his gift; a rather large bottle of Firewhiskey. Despite himself, Harry laughed out loud. He'd only had it once; just a glass at the Weasley's not long after the war. It definitely lived up to its name; it burnt as it chased down his neck and had made him splutter. It wasn't an unpleasant taste, however, and the aftertaste had actually been quite nice. Just the one glass had been enough to make him feel fuzzy – he wasn't sure if that was the alcohol, his tired post-war body and mind or a mixture of both – but he hadn't found out anymore, retiring to bed not long after. The thought of pouring a glass definitely seemed appealing right now, although maybe not for the reason George had thought when he'd sent it.

Alerted by the sound Malfoy had looked over to him, an eyebrow raised.

"Just er… Present, from George" He said, quickly stuffing the parchment into the pocket of his Gryffindor robe and placing the bottle down on the table between them. Malfoy gazed over the bottle sent by George – and then the book from Hermione. "Maybe he'd seen the dismal gift Granger was sending and thought he'd try and save you." He commented with a smirk and Harry found himself laughing once again in response. That was weird – Malfoy joking, Harry laughing. The sound stopped as quickly as it came, the awkward feeling washing over both of them as Malfoy snapped his gaze back down and Harry cleared his throat, for some reason feeling desperate not to let the awkward frost come between them. Harry grasped at the nearest prompt for conversation.

"The book, a present?" He asked, nodding toward the leather in Malfoy's hands.

Looking up once again Malfoy looked startled, before stroking the cover with a far-away look in his eye. "Sort of." He replied almost softly, his eyes' watching his fingers as the traced the spine of the book. "It was already mine, my favourite. Mother saved it from the Manor before – well… So she sent it me."

Harry didn't know quite what to say and the silence pressed between them. Hearing Malfoy talk almost openly about what had happened unnerved Harry somewhat, he hadn't been expecting it. "The chocolates too?" He asked, determined to keep the conversation going.

"What? Oh, no – Pansy sent those." Malfoy said then his cheeks burned – he was clearly remembering the way Pansy had so openly offered Harry up in front of the entire school at the Battle of Hogwarts. Malfoy had, of course, done much worse. The Parkinson's were not Death Eaters and Pansy had left the castle, returning home as battle broke. As such they were not tried for any crimes but had fled the country as soon as they could. Taking in the Belgian chocolates, Harry had a pretty good idea where. Harry said nothing, looking into the warm fire which roared between them. Silence folded over them once more as Harry closed his eyes, the words of George's letter burning in his mind.

 _It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other._

He remained on edge for the rest of the day, leaving Malfoy alone in the common room as he showered and dressed for the day, making the excuse of going to the Owlery and writing several letters thanking everyone for their gifts and wishing a Merry Christmas – along with a special note to George which told him to go for it, Harry's honest sentiment about the matter – and sending them away with the many Hogwarts owls. Before he knew it, it was time for Christmas dinner to be served. He reached the Great Hall to find Malfoy already there, along with most of the other students who had stayed behind, already tucking into their meals. He slipped in silently to the empty bench space beside Malfoy, loading his plate with turkey and all the trimmings despite a distinct lack of hunger since George's letter. He picked at his food, tossing it back and forth over his plate before they magically cleared.

The pair returned to the eighth year tower in silence. It wasn't the companionable silence they'd become accustomed to over this past week, but a silence fraught with tension that almost crackled in the air between them. He didn't dare look toward Malfoy as they walked, scared he would read his mind if he did. Stupid, he knew, as only a very competent Legilimens would be able to perform such magic. Yet somehow he doubted Malfoy would need Legilimency to delve into Harry's mind…

 _We understand each other._

He needed to put distance between him and Malfoy. Fast. As the year had begun, even at the start of the Christmas break, Harry had been able to tell himself his understanding of Malfoy, his need to fix him had come on a purely platonic level. Now, after making the striking connection between his own thoughts and George's love letter, he felt as if he would much rather go ten rounds with the Whomping Willow than admit how he was feeling. He admitted to himself that, over these past few days alone, he'd begun to notice little things about Malfoy. Harry had noticed the way his brow furrowed as he read something particularly puzzling – most often when he was reading his Advanced Arithmancy text – and the two faint, but clear lines which would appear before the problem was solved and the lines eased away, replaced by a faint smirk of self-satisfaction Malfoy wore only for himself. He'd noticed the way that Malfoy's new found height meant he now rose several inches above him when they were standing together, leaving Harry on eye level with his lips and long, pale neck. He'd noticed the way, after a long day studying, Malfoy's hair would fall from its usual slicked back style, a few strands making an unruly break for it across his cheeks, almost as if teasing Harry, begging him to reach out a hand and push the strands away –

Stop. A voice in Harry's head, which sounded disturbingly like Hermione, told him. It was one thing feeling like he and Malfoy had a connection, an understanding, but thinking about what he looked like – well – Harry didn't even look at blokes, not like that.

He needed to put distance between him and Malfoy. Now.

Maybe he could ask McGonagall to use the personal floo he now knew, after using it in the summer, was in the Head teachers office. He could go to the burrow, the Weasley's would be happy to see him, he calm these irrational thoughts and return when Hogwarts was once again full of fellow students and distractions.

"You look like you could use a drink," Malfoy drawled from somewhere behind him. Harry turned sharply, unaware that he'd made it through the portrait hole and to the foot of the stairs as his thoughts ran away with him. As he turned he saw Malfoy standing by the fire, beside the chairs they'd claimed as their own and nodding toward the table which still held a large number of Harry's presents – and, of course, the Firewhiskey.

 _No. Distance. Go._ Screamed Harry's mind, but apparently his body had different ideas. His feet were walking toward Malfoy without permission and before he knew it he stood before the blonde who effortlessly transfigured two bronze knuts into drinking goblets. He lifted the bottle with a questioning look and Harry nodded in response, licking his lips – a gesture Harry hoped Malfoy would take as directed to the drink, rather than his increasing nerves – as Malfoy poured two glasses. Malfoy passed the glass to Harry and their fingers brushed together for the most fleeting of moment. The touch, coupled with Harry's sudden awareness of everything that was Draco Malfoy, sent a spark through Harry so strong he could have sworn there were magic involved.

He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained the lot.

He shuddered at the burn in his throat as he dropped his head back down to be met with a raised eyebrow from his drinking companion.

"That bad, Potter?" He asked; gone was the dripping sarcasm, the obvious glee that would have once laced Malfoy's voice at the prospect that Harry was suffering. Instead, his voice, well it sounded almost… Concerned? No. That was definitely the Firewhiskey. One glass and he was hearing things already.

Aware he hadn't spoken for some time, Harry steeled himself to reply. "You wouldn't know." He said, impressed with how level and calm his voice sounded despite his increasing nerves. Aware his shaking hands may give him away he busied himself by pouring himself another glass of Firewhiskey and flopping down onto the sofa he normally occupied.

The sofa he normally occupied _alone_. With Malfoy sitting in the armchair opposite. Not the sofa that Malfoy sat beside him on, as he was now. For some stupid reason Harry had to remind himself to _breathe_ as Malfoy said,

"Try me."

Harry didn't know what to say. Could this be that Malfoy really cared? That he was worried about Harry? Harry didn't think that he wanted to score points against Harry's upset, Malfoy had clearly changed somewhat since the war. But Harry wasn't a fool; he probably just wanted to find someone feeling shittier than him to make his life seem better.

"George said he's dating Angelina Johnson," The words escaped Harry's lips before he knew it. Inwardly, he cursed himself. From the tone of George's owl he probably hadn't told any of the family his news yet and here was Harry telling Malfoy of all people.

"Johnson… Quidditch…." Malfoy mused, clearly rembering the name of the Gryffindor before both his eyebrows shot up in surprise "The one that – well – dated…" Malfoy trailed off as he placed the name.

Harry nodded; he'd started the conversation now, he may as well roll with it. After the gesture, a silence rolled out between them. They had never gone this far. Their truce had been amicable over the holidays but ensuring that meant conversations were kept light; quidditch, N.E.W.T's, the weather. Not war. Not the ones they'd lost. Not the ones Malfoy's side were responsible for taking. It was too much for either to handle and they both sat in a rhythm, draining and emptying glasses – well, come to think of it, Harry was sure Malfoy was still on his first glass - until Harry's head felt fuzzy.

"George, he says, they understand each other." Harry broke the silence, looking over at Malfoy as he spoke. He'd clearly interrupted an intense thought as the blonde's grey eyes seemed clouded and deep as Harry begun speaking, snapping toward Harry as they cleared. He didn't say anything, just sat there, staring at Harry. Maybe it was the Firewhiskey, or maybe it was the Gryffindor courage willing him on. Either way, he spoke again, willing his voice, his eyes, to make it clear that the words he spoke were not just simple quotes, but were actually what Harry _wanted_ to say, but couldn't find the words himself "He says that when they're on their own, that well… He says they're both messes, but he says when they're together…" Harry trailed off, that's where George's letter had ended, but somehow when he was looking at Malfoy Harry could continue the sentence George hadn't finished. "He says when they're together, its better. They understand each other. It's like they fix each other. Save each other."

Harry's throat was almost painfully dry and his heart was beating so fast he was certain Malfoy would be able to hear it. The silence from him was deafening. He sat, stony faced and emotionless, staring back at Harry. Harry didn't know how long they sat like this, Harry's green eyes unashamedly pleading for something, anything, and Malfoy's grey ones robust in their lack of emotion.

"Maybe it's a bit unhealthy…" Malfoy finally said, breaking the silence as he turned away from Harry for a moment. When he looked back towards him his eyes were burning, all the emotions once locked away now fighting to be seen. "But maybe they'll be happy." Something seemed to linger in Malfoy's voice. He didn't know George or Angelina, he didn't know what would make them happy. But maybe, maybe he understood the situation, understood George's words in the same way Harry had. Maybe he it was a question in his voice. Was he asking… Was he asking Harry if they understood each other? If _they_ could be happy?

His body once again detached from his mind and any rational thought Harry lunged forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy's. At first they were flat and unresponsive and Harry almost pulled back, stung. He'd misread the situation, it was all in his head. Now he was definitely going to have to beg McGonagall for her floo connection –

Before Harry could finish the thought or remove his lips from Malfoy's completely a spark seemed to jolt between them, urging Malfoy into life. His lips moved back against Harry's in a heated frenzy. The movements were rough and fast and _wanting_. Something in the back of his mind compared these lips to Ginny's; they were not as soft, as tender or gentle, but they felt warm and firm and _alive_. The kisses tasted like Firewhiskey and everything Harry needed. He returned the passion, pouring all the words from George's letter, all the emotions that had been stirred into the action.

 _On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…_

Harry had no idea how long they were kissing. Hands snaked into hair, Harry found Malfoy's hair surprisingly and pleasantly soft, not at all greasy from the product which slicked it back. His hands moved down his long, pale neck and across a pair of broad shoulders. He wasn't used to feeling a body like this beneath his hands. His hands usually trailed slight shoulders, round curves and soft edges. Malfoy's body was lean and hard. It was different. Barely registering the moan that escaped him Harry also noted _that_ was different, the teeth sinking into his bottom lip in the midst of a kiss, dragging the skin with a tug before releasing it, sweeping a tongue across as if to apologise before diving back inside. It was certainly different, but it was _good._

And that was all Harry needed to convince himself that he needed more. The mood between them changed in an instant and their already heated kisses turned harder as hands explored bodies, Harry's hands fumbling over the buttons of Malfoy's robes that he insisted on wearing even at weekends. Harry's attire was clearly a much easier obstacle for Malfoy to overcome and Harry hissed as his hands ran up his jumper, tracing the muscles of his back. The jumper didn't last long, however, as Malfoy grasped the hem and tugged it over Harry's head. Fleetingly Harry was glad he'd begun playing quidditch again which gave Malfoy something to look at rather than skin and bone. He was also pleased to notice Malfoy removed his own robes, long fingers deftly opening the buttons to reveal the dark green sweater below. Harry swallowed at the sight, the sweater Malfoy had been wearing this morning. He remembered how, although the thought had been subconscious and unregistered at the time, how _good_ he had thought Malfoy looked in the colour, how the material clung to his skin just so. But now wasn't the time for that thought. Harry wanted to see more. He reached for the hem of his jumper, ready to return the gesture, before Malfoy pushed back looking clearly alarmed.

"What?" Harry breathed, confusion furrowing his brow. Surely Malfoy wouldn't have gone this far if he didn't want this? If he didn't feel the same as Harry did? A subtle eye toward the crotch of Malfoy's trousers told Harry that, yes, he did indeed still want this. A lot. So what was the problem? Malfoy didn't answer, though his hands trembled as they pushed Harry's away and, instead, lifted the jumper himself.

Harry didn't know where to look first. His chest was covered by several, faded yet still visible, scars which coloured his pale chest. Harry's fault, he thought, as he winced at the memory of their fight in sixth year. Malfoy obviously misunderstood Harry's wince, pulling his jumper over his forearm with what Harry would have sworn was magically enhanced speed. It took a moment for Harry's mind to catch up with the reaction, then he realised; The Dark Mark. Harry had no words; instead he simply tugged away the jumper and dropped it to the ground, revealing the symbol on Malfoy's forearm. It was faded, now almost burnt in appearance, but still clearly visible against his pale skin. He wasn't aware how his hand had reached out to hover above the mark, but he was aware of the tension radiating from Malfoy. Catching up with his bodies actions he grasped Malfoy's forearm firmly and pulled him with such force they both tumbled back against the sofa. Within seconds they were a tangle of arms and legs and lips, fighting and entwining together and forgetting their pasts, forgetting the things that had been said and done by both.

Forgetting everything but the moment.

And in that moment, something hard and hot pressed against Harry's leg. _Merlin._ Harry could not hold back his hiss of pleasure as he felt Malfoy's arousal, hot and heavy, against him. Seeing the bulge in his trousers had been one thing, but feeling the heat against him… The only thought that Harry could coherently register was that he wanted _more_ and with that he rolled Malfoy onto his back, moving himself against Malfoy so their arousals could meet. Harry was pleased to hear that his movements earnt a moan of approval from the blonde beneath him, which Harry captured between his lips, kissing him deeply. Tongues continued to battle as hands fumbled for buttons and zippers, Harry reaching down to work on the fastenings of Malfoy's black trousers as he in return worked on Harry's jeans. In no time at all they were both stripped to their boxers, aroused and panting with need. Harry gazed down at Malfoy below him, his once pale skin flushed and his ever neat hair mussed from their embrace. He licked his lips. He looked fucking _fantastic_ and Harry wanted more.

He dove down again, this time his lips connected with Malfoy's collar bone, gently kissing, caressing and nibbling the skin as he moved along and upward, tracing the expanse of Malfoy's smooth neck. As he reached a spot just behind Malfoy's ear he nipped the skin between his teeth which elicited a soft whimper from wizard below him. Harry smiled against the skin he was caressing as he heard the sound, trailing his lips to the opposite side of Malfoy's neck, desperate to repeat the action there and be rewarded with the sweet sound again. In no time at all he was and Harry returned the compliment by grinding his hips down onto Malfoy's, allowing their cock's to rub together through their boxers, the thin, soft cotton the only boundary between them, the only line between the heights of pleasure they had already reached and total oblivion. As if reading his mind, or his body, the hands that had been kneading Harry's arse moved in between the pair and grasped the edge of Harry's boxers and firmly tugged away the material, releasing his heavy, throbbing length from the cotton confines.

As Malfoy's hand grasped him firmly Harry gasped and groaned, the sounds vibrating against Malfoy's skin. Taking the sounds as the encouragement they were, Malfoy's hand began to move up and down Harry's length, building pleasure more quickly than Harry had ever experienced. It was almost too much; the feel of Malfoy's thin, but strong, fingers gripping him. His grip was sure and certain; expertly mapping the length of Harry's cock from base to tip, sometimes pausing at the top of a stroke to tease the leaking head with his thumb. An upwards buck of hips from beneath him reminded Harry that he had a favour to return and in moments he had slid his hand down the waistband of Malfoy's boxers and grasped hard, pumping his fist up and down as he would when pleasuring himself. Except this was so much better than anything he had ever done alone. Better than anything he had ever done with anyone else – granted, he'd only ever fooled around a bit with Ginny – but _Merlin_ this was intense feeling Harry had ever experienced.

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside him and instead focusing on matching the rhythm of his fist to Malfoy's so their strokes were in time. Their hisses and moans wound together as they pleasured each other, the sounds echoing around the empty common room. He opened his eyes and looked down to see Malfoy's grey eyes staring into his, filled so deeply with passion and _need_ that the connection was Harry's undoing and he called out loudly as he came. Harry's calls of pleasure had a similar effect to Malfoy's wanting gaze as within moments of his orgasm he felt Malfoy shake beneath him and a warm, sticky liquid coat his fingers as the length in his hand throbbed.

Once Malfoy had fallen silent Harry removed his hand from his boxers and – in his clean hand – grabbed his wand, murmuring a cleaning spell over them both. Thankfully, he didn't have to reach far for his wand which meant he didn't have to move from the spot beside Malfoy in which he had collapsed as they both came.

For the longest moment, they lay in silence. Their chests both rising and falling as their breathing returned to normal. Harry's mind swirled with more feelings than he ever thought it was possible to feel in one moment, his head almost bursting under the pressure of what he felt, of what he wanted to say. He parted his lips to say something – anything – but a voice stopped him.

"Don't." Malfoy's voice was sharp, cold and it caught Harry off guard. He noted, however, that the arms around him didn't move. "Don't, Potter." This time the voice was softer, but still carried the weight of the seriousness of his request. "You're drunk."

 _I'm not!_ Harry opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, his eyes fluttered shut and spent from the passion of their embrace, sleep claimed him.


	8. George

Thank you once again to all those who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story so far. It's completely written now - wow! Ten chapters including an epilogue as part of the tenth chapter.. so, after this, only two more updates to go! As soon as I've proof read them, I'll try and post them, so it won't be too long now! I'm currently looking at a few one-shots, but I really want to write another multi-chapter if I can, just need to become inspired...

Anyway - I hope you continue to enjoy - here it is!

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 **George**

Draco had no idea how long he laid there. No idea how long he stayed and watched Potter, his chest rising and falling as he slept, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks, fluttering every once in a while as he dreamed. He'd watched Potter before, but this was different.

Now when he looked at Potters face, he could see how it looked in the throes of passion; how Potter's lips parted, licked wet and ready as he moaned, how his cheeks flushed with the heat of his arousal, how his green eyes burned emerald with desire, want and _need_. A need Draco had been, in that moment, able to convince himself was only for him.

Now when he looked at Potters body, he could recall how it felt against him; how Potter's lips had explored him and forced all kinds of undignified sounds from him, how his hands had travelled the lines of his body, how his cock felt throbbing against his palm. In particular, he recalled the way Potter had pinned him down, leaning over him, rolling his hips until Draco was driven crazy with desire. In his experience, Draco had never bottomed – he was always the one in control, the one with all the power, just the way he liked it. But with Potter… Although they hadn't had sex, Draco had loved the way he'd taken control, his kisses and thrusts casting Draco into submission. He had never thought it would be, but giving himself to Potter like that had been a new feeling, a _fucking brilliant_ feeling, and he craved more.

When he looked at Potter, he could also remember the moment he winced as his Dark Mark was revealed.

Yes, Potter had continued, but he had been _drunk_.

Draco seethed at himself for being such a fool. For allowing himself to believe that when Harry recalled the contents of George's letter that the words had a double meaning. That Harry wasn't just recalling the words George had written, but also directing the words to him. _Merlin_ he was an idiot. As if Potter would think that they understood each other. As if Potter would think that they could be _happy_ together.

Because they couldn't. No matter how the moment had played out. No matter what Draco had convinced himself that he had felt between them, they wouldn't be happy together. This wasn't two people who should not be together because of a past lover. This was two people who were completely opposite. Two people on opposite sides of the war, with opposite beliefs. Two people who, to everyone else, despised each other.

Except he didn't think Potter had despised him for a long time. He'd saved him from the fire in the Room of Requirement. He'd testified at his trial, saving him from Azkaban. He'd asked him to join them and play quidditch, of all bloody things. He'd seen the way that – when Potter thought he wasn't looking – that Potter would watch him. Watch him with a pitying, sad look in his eyes. Like Draco was a lost kneazle who needed saving.

Draco had to get away. Get away from the emotions which were threatening to overtake him. He had been a fool, he'd let his guard down, and now he would have to suffer the consequences. As carefully as he could, so as not to wake Potter, he slipped away from the sofa and almost ran to bed. He ran, but not before he had tapped a forgotten piece of parchment and transfigured it into a blanket it, carefully covering the dark haired sleeping figure he left behind. As he sank down on top of the covers, he buried his head in his hands. Here he was, a Malfoy, actually _running_ away from a drunken Potter who he'd just allowed to give him the most glorious orgasm he had ever experienced. Of course, Draco had known for a long time he was as interested in boys as he was girls, but the thought had never troubled him. He always knew he could have fun while he was young before settling down to marry a nice, pureblood girl and continue his line. But now things were different. He still wasn't troubled by his attraction to men. He was troubled by his attraction to _Potter._

Knowing that sleep would not come easy he rooted in his drawer and pulled out a small vial. He'd not used the potion, although McGonagall had insisted on providing him with several doses should he ever desire it. She had meant, of course, should he ever desire to rid himself from the horrors of the war. Those he could cope with. Those, he knew, would be much preferable to the images that would invade his dreams tonight. So that was why Draco pulled the cork away and in one, long gulp down the contents of the potion, tossing it away as he lay back and entered a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

As Harry woke, it took him a few moments to make sense of his surroundings. He was – _Merlin_ he was naked on a sofa in the common room. Thankfully, he was covered by a parchment coloured blanket which gave him his dignity.

Dignity which was soon lost as realisation hit him like a stone dropping to the bottom of his stomach. Malfoy. The memories of last night assaulted Harry. Their touches, their kisses… _Bloody Merlin_. The memories almost made Harry giddy – yet the fact he was well and truly alone in the common room dulled the feeling instantly.

He had stupidly opened his heart to Malfoy. He had told him about George's letter. He had quoted George's words, but he had looked at Malfoy as he said them, his eyes telling him that the words weren't just George's, but his too. Malfoy had seemed to respond. He had said, what had he said? _But maybe they'll be happy._ That was it. He'd said it, more of a question than a statement. As if he was asking Harry if they could be happy. As if he was telling Harry he understood, that he felt the same. He had believed with all his being that yes, maybe they could be happy, and he had told Malfoy that with his body and Malfoy's response had been loud and clear that yes, he thought that maybe they could be happy too.

Except now he was gone.

He quickly dressed and ran to his room, finding with ease the Marauders Map. He hadn't needed to use it over the past week as he and Malfoy had spent most of their time together. Now he scanned the map with wild, panicked eyes. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Not in their tower, not in the Great Hall or the Owlery. _Where was he?_

Harry discarded the map and paced the room. Suddenly he felt as if his skin was crawling. Malfoy's touch was clinging to him and it was invading his mind. How he had felt the touches were real, genuine in their need to be close to Harry. Apparently, he had misread the entire situation. Stripping he dove under the warm spray of the shower and stood, hoping the water would wash away his thoughts as well as his skin but with no such look. As Harry continued to think about last night he concluded the only thing the water was washing away was his sanity. Magically charmed water never ran cold and for that, Harry was glad. He was certain that if he were in a muggle shower he'd be under a cascade of ice he had been there for so long. He dressed – taking care to throw yesterday's clothes and their memories into the wash – and descended to the common room.

As he reached the foot of the stairs he saw Malfoy entering the common room through the portrait hole opposite him. Their gazes connected and Harry _knew._ He knew he hadn't imagined the connection the night before, he knew that he and Malfoy understood each other. He knew that Malfoy had sensed the double meaning in his words and he knew he reciprocated the message. His Gryffindor courage coursed through him as he crossed the room, asking,

"Where did you go?"

"Flying," came Malfoy's reply. That hadn't been what Harry meant, he had meant last night, but he was momentarily distracted – Malfoy had no broom.

"Without a broom?" He asked, raising his eyebrow.

Malfoy missed a beat, yet smoothly replied "I didn't plan on flying. I went for a walk, so I took a school broom from the quidditch store."

They then stood for some time, a few feet apart, neither knowing what to do or what to say. Yet again, it was Harry's courage that broke the silence.

"Look, about last night-" he began, but was cut off.

"Forget it. You were drunk. It never happened." Malfoy spat. His words were laced with a venom Harry hadn't heard in some time. They stung Harry and the rejection burned. His shocked silence gave Malfoy a chance to push past and disappear up to his room.

Malfoy did not appear again for the rest of the day. Harry watched his dot for hours, never straying from his bed chamber. Harry had eaten in the Great Hall alone and was now laying on his bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling of his four-poster. After composing himself from the sting of Malfoy's words he was strong once again. He was still convinced that there had been something real for both of them that night, a connection like that couldn't be imagined. Yet he was lost. What could he do? How could he just make Malfoy see? He needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand.

Inspiration hit him like a _Lumos_ and he scrambled for a quill and ink, writing a quick note.

 _George,_

 _I did need the present after your letter, but not for the reason you thought._

 _I need to talk. I think you might be the only one who can understand this._

 _Meet me in Hogsmeade tomorrow, around 1pm?_

 _Harry_

He took the note and ran all the way to the Owlery, aware of the late hour and the need to get this message to George with the time for him to agree to the meeting. When he arrived there he was met with the image of the pure white owl with its slate grey eyes, swooping in from the night sky. It seemed to stare at Harry as it entered the room. It took a perch beside a school owl and Harry approached it tentatively, expecting it to disappear and prove it was, as Harry had always suspected, a figment of Harry's imagination. Yet it didn't. It stayed, almost impossibly still, staring at Harry. Harry reached out his hands, holding up the rolled parchment and nodding toward the owl's leg. Why he did that, he didn't know. Owls were trained to carry letters. Then again, he had received a particularly nasty bite from a school owl at the start of the holidays who apparently hadn't wanted to deliver his letter to Ron and Hermione, so better to be safe than sorry. He tied the parchment to the owls leg and stroked its feathers gently. The bird seemed to give a low, happy hoot before it spread its wings and took off into the night sky.

* * *

That night Harry had gone to sleep as soon as he returned back to his dormitory, eager to wake the next morning to talk with George. His reply had arrived early the next morning, a short simple agreement to meet Harry outside the Hogs Head. Harry had alternated between pacing his dormitory floor, trying and failing to begin writing McGonagall's scroll on Animagus wizards and – mostly – watching the dot labelled Draco Malfoy sitting at the desk in his dormitory. His mind was focused on what he was going to say to George and, more importantly, how George might react. He was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake. Sure, he'd always liked George, but they'd never been close. But George had helped him out with getting him into Malfoy's trial and his Christmas letter had confided something in Harry that he doubted anyone else knew yet.

Before he knew it, it was time to grab his invisibility cloak and head for the secret passage which would take him down to Hogsmeade. He was sure that, if caught, he could get away with his brief visit when faced with McGonagall but it seemed pointless to take chances. As he reached the passageway he checked over his shoulders and, when sure he was alone, slipped behind the tapestry and down the familiar path. As he reached the mouth of the tunnel he swept the cloak over his shoulders and walked toward George who he could already see waiting a few feet from the pub.

"George, its Harry," Harry whispered as he approached, causing George to jump out of his skin. "I've got my cloak on, to be safe. I'll take it off when were inside."

Regaining his composure George gave a slight nod, big enough for Harry to see yet small enough that he wouldn't look strange to any passers-by. He walked toward the pub, swinging the door open widely to allow Harry enough time to scurry in behind. The pub wasn't empty – it was the festive season, after all – but it was far quieter than the Three Broomsticks would have been. Harry was thankful that George sought out a secluded booth at the back of the pub, hidden away from most of the early afternoon punters. He went to the bar, ordering two Butterbeers and two glasses of Firewhiskey. The bartender did not appear at all fazed by the order even though George had entered alone moments ago. The Hogs Head was notorious for a 'no questions asked' 'what happens in the Hogs Head, stays in the Hogs Head' policy which often saw wizards come to drown their sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol. The drinks were expertly levitated to the table they'd selected and when George returned, Harry swept of the cloak.

"Thanks for coming," He said, unsure of what else to say.

"Well, your letter sounded… Intriguing. So I took the liberty of ordering two kinds of drinks. Don't know which I'm going to need." He said, nodding toward the butterbeer and Firewhiskey before them, starting by uncorking his butterbeer and lifting it to his lips.

"So, how're you?" Harry asked first, painfully aware he was making small talk to avoid the real reason he had invited George to meet him.

"I haven't told them, yet, if that's what you're asking." George sighed as swallowed the first swig of his drink. "But I get the impression that, as interesting as my new relationship may be, it is _not_ the reason were here. So quit stalling, Harry, and spill."

George's tone was forceful, demanding but not in a threatening way. In a way that told Harry he just wanted to know what was wrong and help him if he could. Harry relaxed a little although his nerves were still on end. He swallowed nervously, trying to slick his increasingly dry throat. "Well, you obviously know I stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas. Didn't fancy being the third wheel to Ron and Hermione all holiday, especially with, well… The way things are with Ginny." Harry scratched the back of his neck in his familiar awkward gesture, aware he was talking to an older brother of his ex-girlfriend who, unlike Ron, didn't have the protection of being his best friend. George however, simply nodded, waiting for Harry to continue. "Well, that wasn't the only reason." He continued, clearing his throat. "You know how I've been, well… With the trial and everything, I – your right George, he probably is still a massive git but – He thanked Hermione for going to his trial for Merlin's sake and well – he – he's not evil but he's so… He just looks so broken and – I don't know, I know it's not my responsibility but, well, I just wanted to – wanted to see if I could help so…." Harry was painfully aware he was rambling and his cheeks coloured as George made no reaction, continuing to eye him carefully. After a moment, George spoke.

"I know," He said simply "I er – well, I overheard Ron and Hermione. Saying something about you watching Malfoy and Hermione wondering if you're starting to confuse trying to fix your own life with fixing his. I didn't listen long, I don't like to pry."

If Harry had not been shocked by George's revelation he would have reminded him he was the inventor of Expandable Ears, a magical tool used solely for the purpose of prying on other peoples private conversations. But he was shocked, so he didn't. So Hermione had started to pick up on something, as their conversation before the holidays had suggested. But she hadn't – or at least George hadn't heard her mention it – picked up on what Harry hadn't understood himself until the evening two nights ago.

"Yeah, well, she's right." Harry admitted, his cheeks colouring somewhat with embarrassment. He cursed his bodies reaction to the admission; if he was embarrassed by admitting that, his cheeks would be hot enough to set the place alight by the end of this conversation. Suddenly, Harry was very glad George had ordered the Firewhiskey. Harry took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. "Except the part about me confusing the part about fixing his life and mine, because I'm pretty sure I'm not confused. In fact, it was your letter that sorted that out for me. When I read, what you said about Angelina - _It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other. On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…"_ Harry quoted and George's own cheeks burned at the memory of writing those words. "Well, that made me see that, it's kind of, well – That's… That's how I feel. How I've been feeling for a while, actually, without knowing" Harry paused, aware his voice was dipping so low it was barely audible "about Malfoy."

George's features gave no reaction to the words and for a while, Harry was sure his final words had been so quiet that he hadn't heard him. Then George reached out – Harry flinched, sure he was going to punch him – instead he reached for his Firewhiskey and downed it in one.

"Fuck." He breathed as the empty glass hit the table.

"Fuck." Harry concluded.

"So?" George asked, accompanied with a questioning gaze. "Look, trust me, that's more than enough for me to take in mate, but I've got a feeling there's more you need to get off your chest."

Harry paused, taking a moment to register a number of emotions; first, relief that George hadn't punched him, then relief that George hadn't judged him, then gratitude that his companion had sensed there was something more and was willing to listen. Blowing out what seemed like all the breath in his body, Harry took a long drink of his butterbeer – as tempting as the Firewhiskey was, it reminded him of Malfoy, and he may be in more need of it after, rather than before, this admission anyway - before continuing.

"So, after your letter made me… Realise. I – well, we'd been getting on alright. Studying together, talking a bit about quidditch, playing chess… Just normal stuff, y'know... But after your letter, well, obviously he knew something was wrong. After the feast we went back to the common room and I was all ready to pack up and run to the Burrow, but then he said I looked like I could use a drink." Harry suddenly had an urge to lighten the conversation somehow "So really, I'm blaming you for all of this." He added, George doing nothing more than waving a hand which signalled for Harry to continue. Come on, Potter, he told himself. Get it out. "So I did, have a drink. He asked me if it was that bad." Harry gave a short, shallow laugh at the memory – it turns out it was spectacularly bad. "So, well – I don't know what made me do it. But I – I told him about your letter, and what it said." Harry paused, certain this time that George would punch him – of course, he had every right. Something Harry had suspected, and know knew for certain, that George had confided in him and no one else, not even his family, and Harry had told Malfoy. However, George once again did not react so Harry hastily continued, eager to pass the awkward moment. "But I didn't just – I didn't just tell him what it said. I… I tried to make it clear that it was what I wanted to say, but couldn't say it myself. Anyway, when I got to the point where you finished, where you said _but together…_ I kind of finished it for you. I said that together you could be happy, that you could make each other feel better. Fix each other."

George nodded softly and clearly, and Harry knew he was right. He felt about Angelina the same way Harry had discovered he felt about Malfoy. The thought, as a straight male, he was sure should disturb him, but it didn't.

"He knew what I meant. He knew it wasn't just you. Or, at least, I think he did. He said… He said ' _maybe it's a bit unhealthy, but maybe they could make each other happy'_ " Harry shivered as he recalled Malfoy's words, the way he had felt, the certainty he had had that they weren't about George and Angelina, but meant for him. "He said it – he said it the same way I said it. We were talking about other people, but speaking to each other. I know it."

Harry was aware he'd been talking for a long time with George saying very little in return but really, what was there to say? Only a little story left to go, anyway. "So, well… Kissed and… stuff. It was – well, it was like nothing else. It was _right_. After I wanted to say something – I didn't know what, still don't – but he didn't let me. He said I was drunk and I must have fallen asleep." Harry stopped, aware his voice was now dropping with the horrible feeling this particular part of the memory brought with it. "I woke up in the morning and he was gone. When I challenged him he told me to forget it, said I was drunk and it never happened. But it _did_ happen. I can't forget it."

With the story closing Harry reached out and took his Firewhiskey, draining the lot with a shudder.

"Glad I bought those in, then," were the words George used to break the silence. "Merlin, Harry." He whispered after a pause.

"I know."

"Well, if there's one thing, when this comes out it'll certainly take the heat of me and Angelina." George said, his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It won't. He's avoiding me. He doesn't want to admit it." Harry muttered, looking dejectedly into the bottom of his empty glass.

"Look, Harry." George sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not going to pretend I'm going to dance over the rooftops of Honeydukes with happiness about this. I know I said he's not evil and I stand by that – but he's still a git. He was still on their side and even if he didn't believe in their methods, he believed in their morals. I must admit, I'm surprised to find out he's as camp as Christmas. Not really acceptable for the only heir of a Pureblood family."

"So you're not surprised about me?" Harry asked. It wasn't really the point of the conversation but he needed to know just how much other people knew about Harry before he'd even worked it out himself.

"Mate, I had an idea when you didn't run back to my sister after the war and shag her silly." George replied with a shallow laugh "Not that I'd have been dancing with joy at that, either, she's my baby sister. But it's what everyone expected, what she expected, I know. So when it didn't happen, I wondered, but I never thought…" George paused, a glazed, distant look overtaking his features "Well... Malfoy."

"I never even wondered, so you can imagine my surprise." Harry said dryly, wishing desperately he had more to drink. As if reading his mind, George signalled for two more glasses which appeared with a pop before the pair.

"The way I see it, you didn't go through all this shit to have your life ruined by some scrawny little git like Malfoy." Harry was about to open his mouth to inform George that, although admittedly a git, Malfoy was neither scrawny nor _little_ in any way but swallowed the words when he thought better of it. "So if he's going to be it, if he really makes you feel like I feel when I'm with Angelina… If he can really make you feel alive after all this…" George trailed off, unable to find the words to encapsulate the horror of the war, but Harry understood. "Then the chances are that he probably feels the same. So if you want my advice – and bear in mind I'm completely forgetting that this is Malfoy were talking about – then I say you've got to go for it. This war took a lot from us all. It took a hell of a lot from you, right from being a kid. So you deserve the best shot at a future you can get."

Harry looked long and hard into George's eyes, searching for and finding the raw emotion that was held there. Merlin, when had George become so wise? Of course, losing his twin and had changed George, he was older and clearly wiser.

"And if that's with Malfoy, like mine with Angelina, then everyone else will just have to bugger it." George finished, his final choice of words reminding Harry that this was George Weasley he was talking to.

He let the words settle over him and for some time, the pair sat in silence, sipping their Firewhiskey. Harry's head once again felt fuzzy; he wasn't sure if it was the drink or the weight of his thoughts but he was sure his skull was about to burst. He couldn't believe that George had been so… Well, he certainly wasn't happy about it, he'd made that much clear. But he didn't check Harry for misplaced curses or love potions, or worse declare he should be shipped straight off to St Mungo's. He had sat and he had listened and he had _accepted_ what Harry had to say. When had George, of all people, become so wise? Harry's thoughts then led him down a darker path; George, more than anyone, had been left in a post-war grief that would never fade. Loosing someone so close, close in a way Harry could never himself imagine, could obviously effect someone quite deeply. He pushed the thought away, feeling a need to break the silence which had now become, at least to Harry, heavy and uncomfortable.

"When did you become so wise?" He mused aloud, attempting to sound light hearted and jokey, although his deep desire to hear George give him a reason other than the one he had himself provided betrayed him, leaving his voice sounding low and croaky.

"Lot's of things have changed, Harry. For a long time, I was broken..." George paused, shifting a little before continuing "But that was no way to live, Fred wouldn't have wanted it. So, I figured, if I changed the way I look at things.. The things I look at will change. It makes life better." George's reply wasn't filled with sadness, but came in a low, meaningful tone. Once again, Harry thought, George was proving his new found wise nature.

When their drinks were empty the pair stood and Harry pulled the cloak over himself, disappearing as he and George exited the pub. "I think it's high time me and Angelina faced the music." George said to Harry as they stepped behind a corner although if someone were passing it would look very much like George were talking to himself.

"Good luck." Harry whispered, despite the fact there was no one around to hear him so no need to worry over the volume of the voice coming from his invisible body.

"Good luck yourself," George smiled ruefully, giving Harry a mock salute as he turned on his heel and disappeared down deeper into Hogsmeade joining the bustle of the main street.

Harry himself turned, walking in the opposite direction and returned to the opening which would provide the familiar path to Hogwarts. Spurred on by this conversation, Harry's thoughts now flickered wildly to how exactly he would convince Malfoy of what he knew to be true; a tricky task even if Malfoy completely wasn't avoiding him. Once safe inside the tunnel he removed his cloak, his head still spinning, still formulating a plan of what he would do, how he would convince Malfoy there was something between them.

As he returned to the common room, he wasn't surprised to find it empty. He was, however, surprised to find that it was six o'clock. He and George had talked for hours, although it didn't seem that long. A distinct rumbling told Harry he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, but the throb of his head from the alcohol and weight of his emotions told him that, actually, he could think of nothing worse than a plate piled with food and in fact could think of nothing better than his nice, warm bed. His body was heavy as he dragged his feet upstairs and once he reached his room he had barely kicked off his boots before dropping to his bed, pulling himself under the covers without removing his clothes. His day hadn't been physically exhausting, but the emotional revelations of the day were enough to send Harry into a deep, long sleep.


	9. New Year, New Beginnings

Hi everyone! Quick authors note to say thanks again to those who reviewed the last chapter; Ern Estine 13624, Magic Freak and Liz. This is the penultimate chapter.. my next update will be the last, containing both chapter 10 and an epilogue! I'll have it posted by the end of the week.

Polite warning that this chapter does, once again, show why this story is rated M. ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **New Year, New Beginnings**

The next few days passed in much the same way. Malfoy kept his distance from Harry and Harry didn't push it. He still didn't know what he was going to do or say, only that he was certain he had to act before the rest of Hogwarts returned. New Year's Eve chimed, crispy and cold and far too early for Harry's liking. New Year's Eve meant, of course, that there were only three more days until students returned to the castle on the third of January. It meant Harry had to gather up the frayed edges of his sanity and act now or he never would.

The day passed the same as any other, Harry attempting to study – in fact, it was more than an attempt, the escape it provided from his thoughts of Malfoy was welcoming and he'd managed to get through all of his Christmas essays in only three days – and Malfoy remaining out of sight. Harry had stopped watching him on the map, it only made his stomach twist uncomfortably with the knowledge that Malfoy was so close, yet a million miles away. As the evening came Harry left for the Great Hall alone and ate his fill, not surprised to find Malfoy absent. He was sure he must follow Harry around, waiting for Harry to leave before he entered to eat. Harry had considered waiting for the entire length of the feast to test his theory but after an hour he concluded he was being stupid and returned to the common room.

Malfoy was sitting in the armchair by the fire and as Harry entered the room he almost did a double take, wondering if he'd somehow slipped through a ripple in time and returned to the short period of the Christmas holidays before – But no, he hadn't, he reasoned as he drew closer, because Malfoy was sitting with a disturbingly petulant look on his face with a bottle of wine in his hands.

Apparently sensing Harry's presence the blonde didn't look up, but did speak to him for the first time since he'd told Harry to forget their encounter ever happened. "The bloody bint has charmed it closed, needs you here to uncork it." Harry was sure the confusion on his face would have been evident if Malfoy had looked up at him. Instead he searched for an answer himself and found a folded card on the table beside Malfoy. Picking it up, Harry read the neat script inside.

 _Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter,_

 _This past year, and those before it, haven't been the kindest to anyone. They certainly haven't been kind to either of you. As you are both of age I feel no regret it offering you this gift with a warm wish of a better year to come. However, if you were to tell anyone I had sent this, I would naturally act as if it had never happened and issue you both with a month of detentions._

 _With warmest wishes for a happy new year and new beginnings._

The note was unsigned, but Harry recognised the neat lettering from the bottom of many of his Transfiguration essays. He smiled softly at McGonagall's words and, as if knowing that both of the intended recipients had read the note, it disintegrated in Harry's hands. As if by magic – well, obviously by magic – the bottle Malfoy was holding popped its cork.

"She's a clever witch." Harry said, hoping to break the silence with conversation. Malfoy did not reply however Harry was encouraged by the fact that he transfigured two goblets rather than one, proceeding to pour wine into both. "So are you. Well – you're not a witch, obviously - but clever." Harry complemented, bumbling like an idiot. Smooth, Potter, he cursed himself inwardly.

Once again Malfoy said nothing, simply draining the goblet before him and pouring himself another glass. Harry fought back a sigh and dropped onto the sofa, trying hard to push away the memories it brought back to him. He tried to be encouraged by the way Malfoy had not yet left but was painfully aware he had not spoken since the wine had magically opening; obviously, Harry had served his purpose for the evening.

Well, Harry wasn't about to let the opportunity to slide, even if it was just an opportunity to do nothing more than look at Malfoy as he stared blankly into the fire, now sipping his wine much more attentively. Harry knew that Malfoy hadn't changed completely and he knew that were never possible. He knew he would always be the same git he'd always been, with the same contempt for muggle-borns and blood traitors – coincidently, two of the most important people in Harry's life – and would likely, at times, have the same hate for Harry he'd always had. No doubt, however, Harry would hold onto some of that hate too. But there would also be something more. Something else that held them together, something that made them both feel alive. There was a darkness deep in Malfoy, a frightening magic that Harry couldn't help but cling to.

He needed to take this opportunity tonight, grab it tight with both hands, or he would never know. He watched Malfoy pour himself a third, or was it a fourth?, glass and summoned all his courage.

"Malfoy," Harry said, willing the blonde to turn and look at him. A slight jerk of his shoulders suggested he had heard Harry but he didn't turn his way. "Look at me. We need to talk." It wasn't a request, it was an instruction, and Harry was pleased with how controlled his voice sounded. Despite his words, there was no response. Having Malfoy looking away from him while he spilled out his feelings wasn't ideal – Harry craved the eye contact, craved those grey eyes on his so he could see, so he could have a window into the emotions that were only unguarded in those eyes. Knowing that he would not be afforded the privilege any time soon, Harry pressed on. "Look… What happened, that night, I wasn't drunk. I wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know, well, I think that I know you better than you want me to and I think you know me too. I think, you're different, you're still you but you've changed and you're –"

"I haven't changed, Potter." Malfoy's sneer was icy cold and Harry jumped in surprise, he hadn't been expecting a response at all, never mind mid-speech. "I've merely adapted. Despite what you and Weasley may think."

"Wha-" Harry began to ask, taking a moment to register what Malfoy had just said, confusion swimming over him. "How do you know I was talking to-" Harry stopped as Malfoy finally turned towards him, all pale skin, white hair and sharp, grey eyes.

His heart stopped.

He realised.

 _The witch or wizard has no control over his form… His Animagus form will be somewhat of a 'spirt animal', taking the form of which connects most with the witch or wizards personality, with their needs…_

 _Usually, the first change will be mastered after a great emotional upheaval, although each consecutive change after that will become second nature to the witch or wizard who masters the art…._

 _Despite this, the animal will display some traits, such as colouring, which are the same as its human form…_

"You're – You're…. An animagus." Harry choked out as if he couldn't believe his own words, which he couldn't.

"Well done, Potter." Malfoy drawled coldly, his gaze as hard as stone "Top marks, although I wonder how you managed to defeat the Dark Lord with observation skills as dim as that. Honestly."

Malfoy's jibes didn't hurt him, he was too busy trying to connect his thoughts. "But – You… All this time, you were watching me?" He asked as visions of the owl he'd become so familiar with swept before his eyes. Waiting for him at Ron's bedroom window, those grey eyes staring at him… The last time he'd seen it, just days ago, in the Owlery. "You took my letter to George. You read it, you followed me." Harry said his voice no more than a shaky whisper. He was no longer asking questions, but stating facts.

"When? How? Why?" The questions started again, an inane jumble of everything Harry wanted to know. When had he become an Animagus? He had seen over the past few days that Malfoy was more gifted with Transfiguration than he'd noticed before, but what had led to the first change? Why an owl? Did even Malfoy know himself? And why had he been watching Harry for so long? The final question was the most pressing but it was the one that Harry allowed himself to have a go at answering. Everything he had thought, everything he had felt, was true. He had managed to convince himself, especially after his conversation with George, that Malfoy felt the same as he did, but he had always had a tiny seed of doubt biting at the back of his mind. Until now. Malfoy had watched him, turned into his owl form and flew to Harry to look at him. Surely that meant he felt the same as Harry, even if like Harry, he hadn't noticed those feelings existed until now.

Malfoy sat in resolute silence staring ahead, straight at Harry. In all honesty, Harry hadn't been expecting an answer to any of his questions so he was surprised when, in nothing more than a whisper, Malfoy gave him one.

"I didn't know myself, until I told McGonagall. I didn't tell the Ministry at first, I know its illegal to be an unregistered Animagus. I didn't want them to have anything else to throw at me, so I kept it a secret. Thankfully, they never asked me anything like that under Vertiserum. Obviously they thought that level of magic was beyond me." Malfoy paused and smirked softly, obviously taking a moment to bask in the glory of his magical poweress before the expression faded and he continued. "But I knew I had to do something, so I told McGonagall. I didn't even know that the animal you became said something about your personality until McGonagall taught me. She taught me to control it, to change when I wanted. She helped me see that…" Malfoy trailed off, pausing as he gazed away for a moment, then back at Harry with sad, empty eyes. "I became an owl so I could be free. I could fly away, I could escape. I always had to go back, but…"

Malfoy didn't need to say anymore, the meaning behind his words was clear. Harry imagination suddenly provided himself with vivid images of Malfoy in the Manor, helped along by his short visit during the war and what he had heard at Malfoy's testimony. He saw Malfoy alone in a dark room, shaking as Voldemort's voice echoed through the walls and Luna screamed as she was tortured. He saw how Malfoy couldn't take being so helpless and he saw how, without even realising he could, Malfoy had transformed for the first time into the pale, beautiful, grey eyed owl Harry had come to know so well. The images were so clear Harry was sure Malfoy must have set up a connection between them, letting Harry into his mind to show him, rather than tell him.

Harry swallowed thickly. Apparently, now was the time for confessions. There was something Harry needed to say, that he hadn't even realised he had. It had been in the back of his mind for some time, ever since a conversation with Hermione and Ron, months ago.

"When you saw Hermione, at your trial, it wasn't Hermione." Harry said his voice low. Malfoy looked clearly confused so Harry pressed forward with his explanation. "It was me. I had, well, it's like Polyjuice but George altered it to get past the Ministry defences… I needed, I needed to be there."

Malfoy was still staring, but the confusion was gone. It was replaced with a penetrating gaze that stared not at him, but inside him. Like his eyes were reaching right down into Harry's soul. The intensity of the gaze made him shiver and he couldn't help it – he lunged forward, pressing his lips to Malfoy's. The kiss was as heated and passionate as it had been before but this time it was laced with a different kind of need, an understanding. An understanding that they both knew each other, they both cared, the both… The feelings didn't have words, neither did they need them, only actions. Harry had been planning, hoping, dreaming for this moment since his conversation with George; the moment where he would break down Malfoy's barriers and be allowed inside, the moment where he could make Malfoy see that, yes; together they may be a little bit unhealthy, but maybe, they could make each other happy.

Their kisses continued, growing more heated by the second until Malfoy broke free, his lips instantly reattaching themselves to Harry's neck, slurping and sucking at the skin beneath. As he lifted his head once more, presumably to claim Harry's lips again, he swayed backwards, blinking as he attempted to right himself.

Then it hit Harry. Yes, he had been planning for this moment for days. The moment where he and Malfoy would connected as he desired; but he had never imagined it like this.

"Now _you're_ drunk, Harry breathed, reaching out an arm to steady Malfoy. He had intended the words to be light, playful, a response to his words to Harry those few nights ago. Instead his tone suggested the opposite; his tone was dark, relaying his emotions. No matter how badly he wanted Malfoy, no matter how badly he wanted to feel the way he could – the way he knew they both could – he didn't want it to be like this. He wanted Malfoy to want him, truly want him, not induced by a haze of expensive wine.

Malfoy jerked back as if the contact burned. "Look at you, being bloody noble again." He sneered, his tone suddenly cold, dousing the heat of passion which had moments ago laced the room. "I don't need a saviour."

The blonde turned on his heel, all be it without his usual grace, his spin wobbling slightly proving that Harry was right to have stopped. As he turned he began to stalk away from Harry toward the stairs.

"Draco…" He called before catching himself. He was painfully aware he'd never called him by his first name before, not even in his thoughts. The sound of his name stopped Malfoy in his tracks, his frame freezing over as if struck by _Pretificus Totalus_.

"It's Malfoy, Potter." He spat, although he didn't look at Harry as he spoke and without time for Harry to respond, fled up the stone staircase to his room.

Harry stood, dazed by the events, for several moments, minutes, or maybe even hours. He was only aware of time as the clock chimed out, twelve long, loud strikes.

"Happy new year," Harry muttered to himself bitterly, sinking to his knees on the rug before the fireplace, losing himself and his thoughts in the flames dying embers. Maybe, he thought to himself, this simple image told him everything he would ever need to know about what any relationship between he and Malfoy would be. Like a fire they could burn, bright and beautiful, bringing each other to life like the wood fed the flames; but, they would burn too hot, too fast. Just as the flames had claimed the life of the wood, leaving nothing but charred remains, maybe they would claim the life from each other and instead of fixing themselves, would leave their shattered souls beyond repair.

* * *

Malfoy hadn't made it to his room. He hadn't even made it to the top floor. He'd only made it three stairs before he turned back and halted, safe in the shadows, watching Potter.

Or should he call him Harry? He shivered as he recalled the way his name – Draco – had sounded on Harry's lips. Hearing his name for the first time had been bittersweet; a symbol of their changing relationship yet marred by sadness. It was ruined by the fact that Harry had been calling him out for his cruel words, for his inability to have faced the emotional scene without getting drunk.

He had wanted to say he was sorry. He had wanted to say that, although drunk, he had meant it all. He had wanted to tell him not to forget their first night together as he had requested, but to saviour it. Most of all he had wanted to take back his name from Harry's lips and tell him he wanted to hear it under different circumstances; preferably, under circumstances where Draco was _under_ Harry and his name was nothing more than a moan.

Instead he had said _"It's Malfoy, Potter."_

He had no idea how long he stood, simply watching. He was rapidly sobering up from both the lack of further wine and the weight of the conversation. Harry too must have been deep in thought as he jumped as the clock struck, its twelve chimes signalling the midnight hour.

" _Happy new year"_

Harry's bitter whisper echoed across the empty room, causing Malfoy's stomach to clench uncomfortably, tying in even deeper knots as the messy black head he was watching dropped as its owner sank to their knees. Draco felt as if his entire body was shaking and he knew; this was it. It was all or nothing. He would either surrender, will himself to Harry now and see if they could make it or he would run, run far away and never look back.

Without pausing for his mind to consider his actions he leapt across the room, needing to do anything to close the distance between them. He stopped just behind Harry's bent form and, somehow, just knew what he had to do.

"Harry…" He whispered, his voice surprising him. He sounded hoarse, his voice cracked as he spoke, betraying the feelings he battled inside. The head before him turned and two, impossibly wide green eyes met his grey ones. He offered nothing in return except silence and Draco couldn't blame him; he'd done enough damage already, it was time for him to take responsibility. He took in a deep breath, wishing he could find some Slytherin sense to rely upon to will him through the conversation. Alas, bravery and all round general emotional stupidity was left to Gryffindor's, so on this one, he would be alone.

"I was wrong."

With those three words, Draco hoped that Harry would recognise everything he was trying to say. He was wrong to have told Harry to forget their first night together. He was wrong to have ignored Harry for days. He was wrong to have denied his feelings. He was wrong about a lot of things. Most of all, he was wrong about not needing a saviour. He needed one in particular. He needed Harry.

He sank to his knees before Harry, their faces just inches apart, eye contact never breaking as Draco willed all the words he hadn't said to be spoken through his gaze. It was hard, being so emotionally open. Although his eyes were raw with their feelings he knew his jaw was set and steady in opposition but he gritted his teeth and continued to stare, the pain of bearing his soul like this much worse than any dark magic he had ever experienced.

The gaze he was given in return assured Draco that Harry understood, those green eyes soothing his grey ones, telling him simply; it's ok. Draco leaned in, his lips searching for Harry's yet meeting nothing but air as his companion leant back. Draco jerked back, puzzled. Surely he hadn't misread Harry's signal? Surely… Surely he hadn't bared everything he was to Harry, in a way he never had to anyone else, to be rejected? He noticed the slight flicker of Harry's gaze toward the wine bottle of the table and swallowed. From his position he could see Harry's glass was still half full; yet the bottle was almost empty.

"I took a potion," Draco lied, quickly and smoothly, glad to have his Slytherin cunning to fall back on. It took a beat before Harry seemed to accept Draco's words but he did and soon their lips were connected once more. The warm feeling of Harry's mouth against his filled Draco with a pleasure he could not describe, a yearning he could not put into words as memories of their previous night in the common room assaulted his mind. His hands wound into dark, messy locks of hair as his tongue fought ready and rough in a deep kiss. Using the position of his hands to keep Harry's head close whilst he broke their kiss, Draco whispered,

"I want you. I want you to save me. Take me." His breath ghosted over Harry's lips and he felt a shiver; he wasn't sure which boy had made it, had it been Harry, aroused by Draco's offering? Or had it been Draco himself, fearful of the emotional weight of the words that had escaped his lips? Either way the mood between them changed and as their lips connected again the kiss was slow, gentle and tender in a way that they had not kissed before. It was like fire on Draco's aching bones and he sighed into the kiss, his hands twisting and knotting in the mass of hair he gripped. He allowed himself to be pushed back under Harry's weight, falling back against the rug the knelt on, safe under the warm weight of Harry's body. They continued to kiss, tenderly and lovingly, pouring all the emotions they couldn't say – all of the emotions they didn't yet truly understand – into the exchange of their lips.

This time as they undressed each other their movements were slow. Each was savouring the moment, carefully peeling off each layer of clothing and treating the exposed skin beneath to kisses. Draco's head hit the floor and his eyes fluttered closed as Harry found the sweet spot below his earlobe again and travelled down. His kisses slowly traced each scar as if he was trying to remove the pain he had once caused. As Harry dipped lower his tongue flickered out dancing over Draco's hip bones. As Harry had already rid him of his trousers Draco was left in nothing more than his boxers and as the lips worshiping him reached the waistband they paused. Draco looked up in wonder, just in time to see the way Harry lift his head and move to the left. He was aware how loudly he gasped, his surprise audible as Harry left an unmistakably certain kiss in the centre of Draco's Dark Mark.

He knew his eyes were wide with surprise yet he couldn't alter his features, not even as Harry's blazing green eyes looked up to meet him. "You have changed." He said simply and Draco knew he was referring to their words that evening which now seemed like years ago. He hoped Harry wasn't waiting for a reply; touched by the gesture and by his words, he simply didn't know what to say. As if he knew, Harry broke the contact of their eyes and instead, reached for Draco's boxers, carefully removing them before standing up to remove his own.

The fire had long since burned out but the curtains had not been closed, bathing Harry's naked body in the soft shimmer of moonlight. Draco's throat went dry and his body twitched with desire as he took a moment to stare, unabashed, at the man standing above him. His shoulders were broad and, although not ripped with muscle, he was toned from long hours playing quidditch. His arms and torso were strong and – Draco swallowed as his gaze lowered – that wasn't where the strength ended. Harry was already hard, his cock standing to attention for Draco. Was it really that big, or was it the shadow of the moonlight? Or was it Draco's sudden realisation that, although not a virgin, he'd never bottomed before?

He was disrupted from his thoughts as he caught Harry's gaze, both of their cheeks flushing as they realised they'd been caught in the act, both taking the time to stare at each other's moonlight bathed bodies. Harry sank back to his knees and as he did so, Draco noticed he was quite clearly trembling. He was about to open his lips to ask if he was ok when he spoke, the concern clearly evident enough on Draco's face.

"I… - er… Well, I haven't, exactly… Done this before," Harry muttered, suddenly looking very embarrassed, his cheeks flaring with colour as he looked away. "I mean – not just with a bloke either, I mean… I haven't with anyone."

Draco froze. Harry Potter, a virgin. He, Draco Malfoy, was about to take Harry Potter's virginity. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming need to soothe him, to calm his fears. He reached up a hand, lacing his fingers through Harry's and giving a brief squeeze.

"It's, well, new for me too." Draco admitted, his cheeks pinking slightly, although a far cry from the scarlet display of Harry's. "Well, I've had sex before, with men as well, but –" Draco broke off, suddenly cringing at the way Harry had set his jaw. Was he jealous? A tiny part of Draco flared with happiness at this thought, but the larger part was doused with worry – this wasn't the way he'd wanted this to go. "But I haven't, actually, let anyone fuck _me_." Harry's features seemed to soften, but another unwanted emotion still clouded in his eyes. "I want you to."

His last sentence seemed to work as Harry's lips instantly came back to his and their kisses resumed, still tender but with a building passion, tongues and lips becoming more forceful as their bodies rubbed together, their hot lengths of arousal rubbing, the feeling of skin on skin sending Draco dizzy with desire. He knew he would have to act soon if he wanted this.

"I know…" He started, not getting far before he was cut off by another of Harry's kisses. As delicious as they were Draco forced himself to pull back further this time, his grey eyes seeking out Harry's. "I know some charms. If you let me, it'll… Make it easier." Harry nodded and Draco reached out, fumbling for his wand. With a few words he felt a cold feeling between his cheeks, letting him know the lubrication charm had slicked his entrance. He dropped his wand and almost laughed as he took in the confusion on Harry's face, his eyes gawping down at his two, suddenly wet, fingers.

"You need to – er…" Draco didn't know how to explain, simply nodded between his legs, hoping Harry would get the message. Thankfully he did and he leant down, slowly but surely sliding a single finger toward Draco's entrance. He gasped at the sudden contact and shifted, rolling his hips to urge Harry to continue. His finger followed a few clumsy, inexpert strokes before finding a rhythm that made Draco bite his lip and then moan softly as Harry added a second finger. Draco rocked back his hips to meet Harry's fingers and their lips melted together once more. When Draco was truly relaxed he broke their lips, casting a long, deliberate lick of his tongue over Harry's bottom lip before nodding downward again, signalling to Harry that he was ready.

"Do you – er… Do you want to turn around?" He asked, clearly unsure. Within an instant, Draco shook his head. He knew he probably should, he knew that it would make the first time easier. But he yearned to have Harry's eyes with his as they crossed this line together. A soft smile flickered across Harry's lips as if he could read Draco's mind. He pulled himself up onto his knees, resting an elbow either side of Draco's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, straight into his soul as he positioned himself and whispered,

"Ready?"

Draco nodded in response and Harry sank inside. He paused as the head of his cock slipped into Draco's entrance and Draco winced at the new feeling. Registering his expression concern flooded Harry's features, but Draco waved it away.

"Carry on, slowly…" He whispered, rocking his hips to urge Harry in further. It didn't take long for his partner to comply and soon he was filled completely, stretching wide as his body became used to the new feeling. For a few moments they lay together, Harry slowly drawing in and out of Draco, biting down on his lip in what Draco could only hope was pleasure.

"Faster," he urged after a moment and was rewarded by Harry's bucking hips smashing down against his. It wasn't perfect; it was inexpert and clumsy, Harry often lost his rhythm and struggled to maintain his pace. But it was the most amazing feeling Draco had ever experienced. As Harry plunged in and out of him he was very aware of his own cock throbbing between them. He reached down a hand to pleasure himself and Harry's eyes snapped open, widening as they took in the sight below, darkening with desire. The sight of Draco seemed to speed up Harry's efforts and Draco moaned loudly every time Harry hit the spot inside him which sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. After only a few more thrusts Harry's body seemed to tense above him and he shook, gasping out,

"Draco!"

That was it. That was how he wanted to hear his name. That was what he wanted, the word laced with pleasure rather than pain. The sound was Draco's own undoing and he came over his stomach, Harry's name escaping his lips in return.

Spent, they both lay side by side on the rug as their breathing returned to normal.

"I don't fancy sleeping on the sofa again," Harry whispered, breaking the silence.

"Stay with me," Draco offered, the words escaping him before he'd even realised he was making the offer. He tensed – yes, their exchange before had been emotional, confessions and feelings had been exchanged, but that had all been in the midst of a deeper desire, when words were spoken, glances were exchanged but all as a means to getting what they had both needed. Now, after they'd had their fill of each other, there was nothing left for Draco to blame his outburst on. Thankfully he was rewarded with a head lifting over his and a brief, sleepy smile before a long, soft kiss.

Draco smiled back against the lips that kissed him. Maybe it would be a happy new year after all.


	10. Somewhere To Be Alone

It's finally here - my very last chapter! Thank you, as always, to the reviewers of the last chapter - Tagicheartbreak , Liz, LadyWhiteRose2015 and Ern Estine 13624. But also thank you so much to everyone who has followed/favourited/reviewed this story.. And a super massive thanks especially go to LadyWhiteRose2015 and Ern Estine 13624 for their constant reading and reviewing of every update.. It really made me enjoy writing this all the more knowing that people were really enjoying everything I wrote, so this chapter is dedicated to you! :)

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Chapter Ten

Somewhere To Be Alone

The next two days passed much more quickly than Harry wanted them to. He and Draco – yes, now firmly Draco, not Malfoy – had spent most of their time together; studying, eating and sleeping with stolen kisses in between. Neither of them had spoken about the events of New Year's Eve, of the emotions expressed and the actions that encased them – although neither acted as if it hadn't happened, either. Draco's invitation for Harry to stay in his bed had been non-verbally extended, which was why Harry found himself now lying beside the sleeping blonde under a thick winter sheet. No label had been given to whatever they were and neither had braced the subject that hung heavily in the air between them.

Harry knew it would have to be addressed but rather than open his lips he slipped an arm around Draco's waist, pulling him closer. Despite a very physical start to, well, whatever this was, the pair had not again gone any further than a few stolen kisses before sleeping, and although Harry often awoke to find himself wrapped in Draco's arms they had never consciously _cuddled_. Except now, that was exactly what Harry was doing. The simple movement was all it took for Draco to shatter the moment.

"Harry?" He breathed questioningly, apparently not asleep as Harry had first thought. He remained still, his back to Harry with his head on the pillow.

The sound of his name made Harry's heart twist almost painfully. It wasn't that Draco had gone back to calling him Potter, but he hadn't been calling him Harry either. The sound made Harry realise he wanted to keep on hearing it for a very long time. The sound made Harry realise that, against all the odds, he felt _happy_.

That thought firmly petrified him. Happiness never lasted long for Harry and whenever it came by he would cling to it tightly, waiting for tragedy to whisk it away. It always did; finding out he was a wizard, one of the happiest moments of Harry's life, scarred by learning his parents had been murdered by a dark wizard, winning the Triwizard Tournament, tainted by Voldemort's return and worse, the Cedric's death, Voldemort's defeat and the end of the war, the joy ever ghosted by loss, George without a twin, Teddy without parents. Cruelly it appeared that fate would never let Harry be happy. All those other time, he had allowed himself to dare to hope for happiness. Dare to hope that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. In this situation, Harry knew hope would bring him nothing. He didn't know much about Pureblood traditions but what he did know that this – Harry kept referring to himself and Draco as 'this' from a lack of anything else to call it – would be far from acceptable. Although relations between the same sexes were not met with animosity in the wizarding world as some muggles did, he knew that to Purebloods, a relationship which did not secure the future of the family line was nothing more than worthless.

As Harry saw it, he had two choices. He could say nothing, commit this last night with Draco to his memory and wait for the cool distance to return as the students did. Or he could confront him now, then at least he would now he did all he could. He would have to return to bed alone but at least his mind would be clear, readily waiting for the distraction of his friends return in the morning.

His silence must have alerted Draco further who turned over, shifting to face Harry. He could see little of the pale, pointy face in the darkness of the room, although his slate grey eyes seemed to glow in the little light the room was given from the glow of the moon.

"I was just thinking about your owl-stalking tendencies." Harry lied. He had opened his mouth to confront Draco, to ask him what would happen when the students returned but as their eyes met, he found he couldn't break the moment just yet.

If the room were in more light, Harry would have been able to see the blush that crept across Draco's usually pale cheeks. "It wasn't _stalking,_ " Draco mumbled, before quickly finding his feet and smirking "says the one who polyjuiced himself with an untested potion to.. – to see me."

Harry noted with a soft, sad smile how Draco so deftly altered his words. Although he had altered the end of his sentence Harry knew it had originally been "to see my trial". As Draco had unwittingly opened up over the past few days it had been clear for Harry to see just how much he had been broken by the events of the war and those after it – but also, Harry dared to believe, how he was beginning to heal.

Harry swallowed the lump building in his throat, trying to prepare his voice to sound even and nonchalant, although already aware he would fail terribly as he said "I suppose you'll want to, well… I suppose you'll want me to go back to my room."

For the briefest of moments confusion flashed across Draco's dimly lit features "What? Now? Your stalking tendencies don't bother me that much-"

"I didn't think you'd want people to know." Harry cut him off firmly, his words hanging in the air. A small voice in the back of his mind, the voice that knew any glimmer of happiness ever afforded to Harry would never last said this was the moment where Draco would turn and tell Harry that this was nothing and there was nothing for people to know about. That would hurt more than Draco wanting to end it – at least then there would have been something to end.

Instead, Draco's brow simply furrowed.

"You're a pureblood." Harry continued in way of explanation.

This time it was Draco's turn to smile the soft, sad smile. "It's not like I have much of a name to continue," He whispered, although he didn't sound like that was something to regret, rather he sounded well, did Harry dare to believe… Relieved? "I've always known I liked, well… blokes, but now I haven't got a family honour to uphold… I haven't really got anything to lose."

His final words hung in the air as if they were a question directed to Harry, rather than a statement. "Neither have I."

"Not the Weaselette?" This time, it definitely was a question.

Harry could have chosen to reprimand Draco for the nickname, but now wasn't the time. "Not for a long time. I didn't know I liked… But I knew she wasn't for me." Harry paused for a second before throwing caution to the wind. "Besides, I er… Last night, I owled George and told him."

Despite the dim light of the room Harry saw an emotion flicker through Draco's eyes , one that he didn't have time to place – although he hoped for one certain emotion, he didn't dare believe it – before it disappeared and Draco spoke again.

"Weasley and the mu- Granger?"

"We can tell them tomorrow." Harry said, then held his breath, aware of the resounding 'we' that had escaped his lips. This was it, the closest either had come to remotely defining anything between them, Draco's last chance to back away.

The blonde beside him didn't protest, although he didn't rush to reply either. Instead he gazed at Harry for a moment before giving a nod so soft that Harry would have missed it if it had not caused the pillow they were sharing to wrinkle. Harry squeezed the arm he still had wrapped around Draco's waist and watched as the grey eyes he had been so fondly watching – for longer than he had realised – turn away and be replaced with the back of Draco's head.

It hadn't been a romantic declaration, a burst of confessions of love and commitment or even a remotely enthusiastic acceptance, but it was enough to cause a cheek splitting smile to sweep Harry's face and cling to the hope that this time, maybe, he could be happy.

-oo-

When the pair awoke the following morning the previous night's exchange was, as was rapidly becoming common practice for the pair, not acknowledged. Although it wasn't acknowledge in words, tension seemed to ripple in the air between the pair as they dressed and in silence, headed down to breakfast. As they entered the Great Hall Harry noted with sadness that, in preparation for the students return that day, the four house tables had been returned to their rightful positions. Noticing Draco's steps falter beside him as if unsure where to go Harry nudged him lightly, nodding toward the empty Gryffindor table for Draco to follow. The blonde paused only for a moment before following Harry, sinking onto the bench beside him as they reached the foot of the table.

As Harry piled his plate with bacon – he felt he'd need his strength for the conversation he promised himself he'd have with Ron and Hermione – he allowed himself to consider what he might say. George's reaction had been promising overall, although it was understandable as he was in a position where he was least able to judge; not that dating your dead brothers girlfriend was on level with being the Chosen One and dating an ex-Death Eater who also happened to be a bloke. The full plate that Harry had made himself now made his stomach turn as he filled with apprehension. He looked up in search of a pot of tea to settle his stomach and as he glanced at the teachers table, caught his gaze with McGonagall's. She held it for a moment and offered Harry a warm, knowing smile that made the heat rush to his cheeks. Surely she couldn't know…? No, Harry was just being foolish. She was simply pleased the pair appeared to have put their differences aside and that Harry had taken her words before Christmas seriously.

He turned away and noticed how Draco was picking slowly at his food, apparently his appetite was as raging as Harry's.

"The train usually gets in around 3." Harry said, unsure why he had, as Draco would of course already know that information. "I'm going to owl Ron and Hermione, tell them to meet us in the Room of Requirement when they get here."

Yet again Draco said nothing about the upcoming meeting, merely nodded as he had the previous night.

"I'll see you back in the common room?" Harry asked, unsure why his statement had left his lips as a question. His nerves were on edge and he felt jittery beyond belief – he needed something more than a nod to convince him owling his friends with a request to meet them so privately was a good decision.

As if sensing he needed to hear his voice, Draco turned to face Harry and offered him a small, but sure smile. "Yeah."

It wasn't much, but it was enough. Harry returned the smile attempted to lighten the situation with a joke. "You could even deliver it, if you wanted." He said and thankfully, Draco smiled.

"As tempting as the offer to be your personal errand owl is, I'll pass." He replied, feigning an overly dramatic shudder as he looked up at the twirling snowflakes on the enchanted Hogwart's ceiling, today an exact replica of the swirling snow storm outside.

Feeling considerably more positive as he left the Great Hall Haryy scurried to the Owlery, quickly dashing off a note to his friends before tying it firmly to the nearest owl. The owl gave a sharp, annoyed hoot at being forced to leave its shelter but none the less swooped away, quickly disappearing in the thick white flakes that tumbled through the sky.

The rest of the day passed with several failed study attempts, a few games of wizards chess where neither had enough concentration to offer a decent game and no mention of leaving their common room for lunch. Harry's stomach rolled over, although it wasn't from hunger. He eyed the clock and noted it was five minutes to three. It wouldn't do for half of Hogwarts to see Harry and Draco strolling around together before they'd had a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione.

"The train will be in soon, we should go up before the first people get back." Harry said and Draco, once again, only nodded. They stood and left the common room, covering the distance that it took to reach the Room of Requirement with agonising slowness. All the time Harry's stomach twisted with nerves. Was he sure that this was the right thing to do? So far Draco had given him little in the way of a solid conformation about this, what if he changed his mind? What if he ran just before Ron and Hermione arrived? What if – Harry gulped uncomfortably – he laughed as Harry confessed to Ron and Hermione, claiming the whole thing had been one big joke?

But it wasn't a joke, Harry told himself firmly. He hadn't heard the words, but he'd seen it in Draco's eyes as they stared at each other, felt it rippling beneath his pale skin as they touched, he knew it was real.

Those thoughts – especially the ones of touching Draco – filled Harry's mind as he paced three times before the Room of Requirement.

" _We need somewhere to be alone, we need somewhere to be alone, we need somewhere to be alone."_

Harry repeated his request with each lap and slowly a large oak door appeared before them. Harry smiled quickly at Draco before grasping the handle and stepping through the threshold.

He had only gone two steps before he stopped in his tracks.

Apparently, he had been a little too distracted by thoughts of touching Draco as he had requested a place for them – and Ron and Hermione – to be alone. What he had managed to conjure was a large, simply decorated yet beautiful bedroom. The walls were a warm, soft cream and a large, four poster bed dominated the centre of the room. The sheets were a deep red silk which seemed to somehow glow? No, Harry noted as his cheeks flamed as red as the bedsheets – the glow was caused by dozens of floating candles, flickering softly as they hovered around the bed.

"So, you want romance and candles, eh?" Draco drawled. Although his voice was steady a playful smirk tugged on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. He looked… scared? _Fuck._ This was the last thing Harry wanted. He desperately tried to regain control of his mind and will his lips into creating any excuse.

"I asked it for a place to be alone. I meant for us to tell Ron and Hermione not – I mean – I must of got distracted…" He mumbled, awkwardly trailing off. _Smooth, Potter_ , he reprimanded himself bitterly. As if sensing the creators discomfort the room seemed to fizzle slightly as it transformed; the candles flew into newly conjured wall hangings and the bed transfigured itself into two, large, very comfortable looking sofas. They were still deep red but no longer made of silk.

Harry didn't let himself feel relieved – he had seen the look of fear in Draco's eyes. Harry had unwittingly allowed him to see thoughts that clearly suggested romantic intention. They hadn't even discussed themselves what they were – no doubt Ron and Hermione would ask – they didn't have an answer but Harry had just made his thoughts quite clear…

He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding when Draco strode over to one of the sofas, settling himself down into it. He followed him over, settling down beside him in relief. The pair sat in silence and Harry noted a new addition to the room. A large, very elegant, grandfather clock stood proudly in the corner, ticking softly. The time read twenty past three. Students luggage was, of course, magically transferred to dormitories so with nothing to collect, Ron and Hermione would arrive very soon…

Harry was aware he had been shaking his leg until long, bony fingers settled over it, stilling the motion. The touch was by no means firm enough to stop Harry but the comfort the simple contact offered stilled the swirling emotions which had beckoned the nervous reaction.

Just as Harry was about to turn to smile at Draco, the expression vanished from his lips as the door popped open.

"Harry, we got your owl we –" The voice, which sounded overly worried in a way that only Hermione's could, stopped as her eyes settled on the object of her conversation. "Harry." She repeated, her eyes widening as she took in the hand on his leg "Malfoy." She continued.

A figure behind Hermione made itself known, stepping around the place where she'd frozen in the doorway to gain entrance to the room. At first Ron's features flew threw a range of emotions as he took in the sight of the pair, before settling on a completely slack faced look of confusion.

"Come and sit down." Harry said, his voice hoarse as he finally managed to speak. As if too surprised to do anything otherwise, his two best friends dutifully followed his instructions, taking a seat on the sofa opposite.

"We were worried." Hermione said eventually, as if finding the voice she needed to finish the statement she'd begun when she entered the room. Now, however, rather than a statement of concern, it seemed to be a question, as if asking if she had something to be worried about.

"We, er…" Harry swallowed, feeling uncomfortable as he once again referred to himself and Draco as 'we' "have something to tell you. I know it might be, well… It probably definitely is a little unhealthy." George's words, he decided, had helped him realise his own feelings so well that maybe they could help his friends understand too. "But I think we might be happy."

Ron and Hermione both flew threw a range of expressions, each overwhelmed by a clear sense of shock. Neither breathed a word, completely speechless. A speechless Hermione was something that, under different circumstances, Harry would have found positively hilarious. Instead he watched his best friends with hope, willing them to understand.

All the while, Harry noted comfortingly turning now to gaze into the grey eyes he knew were his, Draco didn't move his hand from Harry's leg.

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Epilogue

 _One year later_

Of course, it hadn't been easy. Without ever defining what they were to themselves, never mind anyone else, the news of Harry and Draco had swept the castle like wildfire. At first whispers, giggles and stares followed them through the castle at every turn. Although Ron and Hermione had been unsure they had stood by him and their support warmed Harry's heart. Naturally, it hadn't taken long for The Prophet to get hold of the story and their headlines had ranged, republishing the same event on an almost daily basis for a week, each time giving a different angle. Their stories had ranged from claiming Harry was certifiably insane, suggesting St Mungo's admit him against his will, to claiming that it was all a painfully attention seeking act to boost his public profile which had diminished since his return to Hogwarts.

The worst article had declared that Draco Malfoy was still a master of the darkest magic and he had brewed a powerfully potent love potion for Harry to ensure success in his plot to kill Harry and become the new Dark Lord. Harry could take the Prophet making accusations about him, he was used to it, but Draco – he filled with rage just thinking about the way Draco had become withdrawn and angry, reverting to his old, cold ways. Harry had pushed through, contacting Luna – who thankfully, as non-judgemental as ever and hadn't even offered to check his mind for rouge wrackspurts - to publish an article in The Quibber in which Harry personally declared he was _not_ crazy, _not_ attention seeking and certainly _not_ under the influence of any love potions.

The interest died down soon enough; Harry and Draco gave people little else to talk about. There were a few changes, like how Draco joined Harry at the Gryffindor table to eat, and how they sat together in the common room, studying and talking with Ron and Hermione, but nothing to give anyone anything to talk about. They didn't roam the corridors hand in hand or snog in public so naturally, as soon as the next Hogwarts scandal came, they were yesterday's news.

A few weeks after the whispers had died away, Draco had taken Harry back to the Room of Requirement. He had at first wondered why – Harry had, without formal invitation – moved himself into Draco's bedchamber at the top of the eighth year tower. If they wanted to be alone, all they had to do was go to their room. When they had arrived, however, Harry hadn't needed to wonder why.

Draco had conjured the room to look exactly how it had when they had told Ron and Hermione – the first time around. It was their very own "somewhere to be alone". The candles flickered just as warmly and the red silk sheets looked just as inviting. Draco had looked, at first, like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. It had been a very obvious display of a feeling that neither of them had voiced, but now, neither needed to. Harry had pulled Draco into his arms, kissed him deeply and taken him to bed, for the first time lying back and allowing Draco to take him. It had been… perfect.

"Do we _have_ to? Can't we say I'm ill?" Draco moaned pitifully, snapping Harry from his warm memories. "There's been a few cases of Spattergroit at work, actually…" he continued, sounding hopeful.

Harry sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. Of course, just as he was having a fond, loving memory of his boyfriend – yes, after some time they'd finally got around to officially declaring themselves as in a relationship – he proved to Harry yet again just how much he could still be an insufferable git.

"No." He said firmly, standing from his seat in the living room of their flat and moving to where he could hear Draco's voice drifting from their bedroom. "First of all, that lasts for months, so they'd be pretty suspicious when you were up and healthy again on Monday. Second, the blisters can leave awful scars, so even if you were that desperate to avoid a meal with my friends that you'd hole yourself up in our flat for a month, I doubt you'd be willing to scar that pretty face."

His words were let with a loud, drawn out groan. Harry almost laughed as he walked through the door – then the amusement died on his lips. "Merlin Draco you're not even dressed!" He spluttered, his amusement quickly turning to anger as he took in Draco's undressed state. Of course, he never usually complained at the sight of his boyfriend wearing nothing more than his deep green – silk, of course – boxers, but tonight was an exception. "The table is ready in ten minutes and we need to walk from the apparition point! It took Hermione weeks to get this reservation!"

"I can hardly believe that, most places fall over themselves to feed the Saviour," Draco drawled, although the resentment and bitter attitude which would have laced such a statement years ago was gone. Instead, amusement and mirth flickered in both his eyes and his tone, a smirk plastering his face. Fleetingly, Harry wished for the resentment back.

"Well she didn't mention my name. Didn't fancy cameras being shoved in my face all night," Harry muttered. Of course, the papers were no longer interested in Harry and Draco's relationship, but it didn't stop them following Harry all over with cameras – if it was a slow news day, a photo of Harry could always make the front page, or at least one of the first few columns.

"Come on, Draco…" Harry whispered, pouting in a way that made his bottom lip jut out and he had learnt that his boyfriend, although he'd never admit it, couldn't say no to.

"No, Potter." Draco growled, turning the tables. Not only had he realised what Harry was doing, he had started to play games with him. He knew what calling Harry ' _Potter_ ' did to him…

Harry was taken over by images of Draco bending him over their kitchen counter, slamming into him with a force that Harry had been sure was aided by magic as he pinned Harry down, growling deeply in his ear; ' _Is this how you want it, Potter?_ '

Harry shook away the thoughts – he would never describe them as unwanted, but they were certainly… Inconvenient at this time, Harry already dressed smartly in a fine new pair of dress robes Draco had helped him pick out. Harry had gaped at the price and insisted that it was insane to spend that much on material, but the way Draco's eyes had feasted over him had made him change his mind, paying for the robes quicker than the witch behind the counter could say " _40 Galleons_ ".

"I could be persuaded to take you like that again, Potter… Especially when you look so…" Draco paused to lick his lips as his eyes raked down Harry greedily "…. _Edible_ in those robes" he finished, his voice low and dangerous.

"Draco," Harry protested, hoping his voice was as firm as he willed it to be. "You know I don't see them much, and I don't have many…"

As Draco's leer faltered, Harry had to bite back a smile. The guilt card always worked spectacularly with Draco. "Ok, ok, keep your beard on Merlin, I'm getting ready." He grumbled as he headed toward the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of deep grey velvet dress robes. Harry grinned widely at the choice –they matched the colour of his eyes perfectly. Harry remembered the day he had bought them. He had noticed Draco longingly fingering the fabric as they'd taken Harry's Auror robes for resizing. Draco had said nothing, but Harry had seen the way he gazed at the material. All he had to do was ask – but, of course, he wouldn't. Malfoy hated relying on Harry and, admittedly, he did rely on Harry an awful lot. Harry had bought their flat, got Draco his job… Although Draco had perfect N.E.W.T scores, they were little without Harry's influence which had allowed him to get a role as a Potion's Master's apprentice. As an apprentice, the pay was poor, but Draco loved his work and when qualified wouldn't have to rely on Harry – not financially, at least. But for now, such extravagant purchases as dress robes were firmly outside the realms of Draco's reach. The next day when Harry returned to collect his robes he had deposited 45 Galleons for the robes without a flicker of an eyelid, despite his protests at the expensive of his dress robes earlier that week. He had left them, packaged on the bed for when Draco returned home. The gesture had earnt Harry a smile; a smile that reached Draco's eyes and truly lit up his face with warmth, a smile that – even for Harry – was hard to inspire.

"Although, of course, I'll take you up on that offer when we get home.." Harry breathed hotly against Draco's ear having silently crept up behind him. To his delight the blonde shivered at the feeling, turning his face just an inch so that their lips were almost touching.

"I'll be counting on the thought to get me through this insufferable evening." Draco drawled, although Harry knew deep down that – whilst Draco would never wildly enthuse about spending time with Ron and Hermione - Draco didn't mind Harry's friends. In fact, on occasion, Draco could be seem entering into a sparring debate with Hermione as they discussed the laws of magic on such a complicated level that Harry and Ron sat back, shaking their heads and turned their conversation to Quidditch.

Harry pressed a brief kiss to Draco's lips before drawing back with a wink and leaving the room. He wandered back into the living room to turn of the wireless he had been listening to whilst waiting for Draco. His gaze wandered to the few photos which lined their fireplace. Their flat was decorated to a minimum, free of all the fussy touches that filled Ron and Hermione's home – clearly, that was a female thing. Harry didn't mind the bland, basic decorations of their flat; it was perfect for them, all they needed was their special place, their somewhere to be alone. The one thing Harry had insisted on, however, was photographs. One of Harry's most prized photos – one of his mother and father, stood at one end of the shelf. He watched his parents twirl and laugh together for a moment, before moving onto the image at the opposite end of the shelf. In it, a younger Harry, Ron and Hermione laughed together and waved at the camera, Harry and Ron pulling childish faces and Hermione shook her head at them, trying and failing to look stern. The central photo was Harry's favourite. A photo of himself and Draco which had been taken when they collected their N.E.W.T's. In the photo, the pair opened their scrolls and burst into whoops of delight, Harry unashamedly throwing his arms around Draco's waist and pulling him close, planting a kiss on his lips before the scene replayed. It hadn't been a photograph that either had been aware of until it had surfaced on the front page of The Prophet. Harry hadn't bothered to read the headline but had carefully clipped away the photo and framed it. Draco had rolled his eyes, muttering something about Harry being a sentimental sap, but he hadn't protested as the frame took pride of place in the centre of their fireplace and that was enough for Harry.

"Harry? Hello?" Harry jumped as Malfoy appeared right before his face, waving a hand across his eyes "The fire's lit but the cauldrons definitely empty." He muttered to himself, peering intently into Harry's eyes.

Harry blinked a few times, pulling himself from his thoughts; apparently Draco had been waiting for some time. "Sorry, I was er… I was just thinking." Harry apologised.

"Merlin help us, Harry's thinking, that could be dangerous." Draco smirked with amusement, offering out his hand to Harry in preparation for their apparition.

"I was just thinking about how happy I am. That we're here." The words left Harry's lips before he could stop them; it didn't cause a rush of fear as such emotions once had, but they were still tinged with a slight embarrassment that Harry hoped they would never lose. Such displays of affection were rare between them, but at least when they happened, they knew they meant it.

"Well I'm not, I can think of a list of places as long as Merlin's beard that I'd be happier to be rather than off to a double date with Weasley and Granger." Despite his comment, Draco smiled at Harry, giving his hand a squeeze to show he knew what Harry had meant.

"Those robes look great on you. Grey. Like your eyes." Harry continued to babble, a smile taking over his face – it seemed once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Draco rolled his eyes, although his smile didn't face. "You've said." He replied dryly. "Now are you going to stop being a sap so we can apparate, or don't you care about being late anymore?"

Harry, in fact, suddenly didn't mind about being late at all. He leaned in, giving Draco a long, drawn out kiss, gently moving his lips against his, slowly allowing his tongue to slip out and seek access to Draco's warm mouth. Their tongues moved together, but only for a moment, until Draco pulled away.

"If you want to go to this blasted dinner, there'll be no more of that until were home."

Harry winked, grinning at Draco with a sensual promise. "Can't wait, grey eyes."

 **END**

* * *

Once again thank you **SO** much to everyone who has followed the story and for all the support. I'm certainly very sad to see it come to an end! I have, however, got a new story in the works - another Harry/Draco pairing called "Guardians".. I'm posting the first chapter today, so if you'll miss reading "Grey Eyes" as much as I'll miss writing it - head over to my page and give my new story a try! :)


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